


Two For The Show

by Thorinsmut



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Age Difference, Alcohol Mentions, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossdressing, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, Hand Jobs, Illness, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Nipple Play, Praise Kink, Robot Sex, Safer Sex, Sexual Debut, Social Awkwardness, Subterfuge, Trans Character, Vera's Dress, disaster bi!Boone, entomophagy, handwavey science telepathy, herein being a compendium of the Courier's slutty slutty time in the Mojave, internalized macho bullshit, jealousy fears, latinx character/s, lean into that 'Confirmed Bachelor' perk, loyal!Boone, metamours, protective!Raul, relationship anarchy, snipers in cahoots, trans man!Ranger Andy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-09-02 21:57:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16795528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: "C'mon. You know what couriers are like."Tempest found the reputation to be damned useful from time to time. Everyone knew to expect a fun tumble with no strings attached. Not to mention the great ass from all that running—but anyone with a working set of eyes could confirm that bit as true for themselves with a glance. Those without had to ask permission to get their hands on it and find out.





	1. Easy Pete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One thing led to another, easy as pie.  
> A hint, a smile, and before you know it Tempest was straddling Easy Pete on his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cross posted on tumblr here:  
> http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/post/180665235228/something-nice

One thing led to another, easy as pie.

Clearing out the geckos around the water source with Sunny Smiles to make sure Tempest still had his aim and his nerve led to hanging out with her in the Prospector Saloon afterward. Hanging out at the Prospector (even though he was under strict orders from the Doc to keep off alcohol for a few days yet) led to making friends with Trudy and the regulars. Easy Pete, in particular, was easy to get along with. He had his own fun stories of having been a prospector, before he settled in Goodsprings.

When Tempest wondered aloud if anybody in town was known to rent out a bed, Easy Pete offered him one free of charge. One thing led to another. A hint, a smile, and before you know it Tempest was straddling Easy Pete on his bed.

It was a nice place to be. Easy Pete had a very solid lap, and his big workman's hands were firm when they landed on Tempest's hips. Tempest took Easy Pete's straw hat from his head and hung it reverently on the bed post. Mishandling a man's hat was a good way to make sure the evening didn't go anywhere fun, and Tempest was looking forward to this. Easy Pete was smiling behind his well-kept white beard, a twinkle in his faded brown eyes.

"Howdy, pardner," Tempest crooned, swiveling his hips in Easy Pete's grip as he wrapped an arm around the older man's sturdy shoulders. "Is there anything I could interest you in?"

Easy Pete leaned up to kiss him, and Tempest met his mouth hungrily. It was a lovely kiss, the surprising softness of Pete's lips against his enough to send a frisson of desire through Tempest's body—all the better when his hands slid back to take a strong double-handful of Tempest's ass. He moaned against Easy Pete's mouth.

Easy Pete broke the kiss far sooner than Tempest would have preferred. "I'm interested," he promised. "Just not sure I oughta." His wrinkled brown forehead was crumpled further with worry. He let go of Tempest's ass with one hand to gently run his thumb beneath his new scar. It went from above Tempest's eye to just above his ear, where by sheer luck the bullets had lodged into and skittered across his thick skull, respectively, instead of splattering through it.

Tempest knew what he looked like. He'd gotten a good look at himself in Doc Mitchell's reflectron. The scar was healed closed, but still red and angry against his light tan skin, and there was a bruised hollowness to his eyes and cheeks that hadn't been there before he was pulled out of a shallow grave. He'd hoped that a good day of being up and about would have made him look more alive. Apparently not.

"If two to the head couldn't take me down, a little fun ain't going to do me any harm." Tempest tried his best rakish smile. He could only hope it still had the same charming effect despite the scar. Easy Pete looked unconvinced, so he kept going. "You'd be doing me a favor, checking on my agility and endurance. Why, it's practically a public service if you think about it."

Easy Pete laughed at that, a little dry chuckle. He glanced toward Tempest's mouth, the hand on Tempest's ass squeezing just a little bit. So Tempest kissed him again. The kissing, more than the talking, seemed to be getting the trick done. Pete stroked down his back, and Tempest arched into it with a whine. He'd never seen the point of pretending not to be responsive. If a man wanted him to be a quiet lay, playing with them was never going to be enough fun to be worth the effort of holding back. Pete made an approving rumble, low and rough in his chest, and Tempest shivered appreciatively at the sound.

"You really want this," Easy Pete said, as much asking for further confirmation as it was an observation of obvious fact.

"Sure do," Tempest breathed. He eased open the top button of Easy Pete's shirt to see the first hints of silver chest hair. "C'mon. You know what couriers are like." The reputation was damned useful from time to time. Everyone knew to expect a fun tumble with no strings attached. Not to mention the great ass from all that running—but anyone with a working set of eyes could confirm that bit as true for themselves with a glance. Those without had to ask permission to get their hands on it and find out.

Easy Pete chuckled again. "Oh, I do. Which is why I'm asking if you got a jimmy hat handy _before_ the clothes come off."

The rakish smile, coupled with a laugh, was automatic. "I always come prepar—" Tempest's hand, reaching back to the specific pouch on his utility belt, ran into nothing. His smile died on his face. He didn't have his utility belt any more. The bastard in the checkered suit had stripped him to his skivvies before shooting him and tossing him in a hole. "They stole my _condoms_ , too!? Shit!"

It was a low blow. The injustice of it hit him hard, much worse than waking up when he expected to be dead. Tempest had been too _relieved_ to be rightfully upset about the murder attempt. Sure, shoot him and leave him for dead, but take his condom stash away and he felt like crying? It was ridiculous. Didn't mean he didn't feel it, though.

"Easy," Pete soothed, stroking down his back, like he was trying to calm a feisty bighorner. "Easy now." It did kind of work, though.

Tempest slumped forward, hiding his face against Pete's neck to breathe the musky sweat-and-dust scent of him. "I just wanted something _nice_ ," he whined. It was definitely whining. He was a big enough man to admit when he was being childish. The nightmare of the last few days just couldn't end, could it? The moment he thought he could forget about it, it came right back to bite him.

"We still could," Easy Pete said, totally unruffled. "Handies oughta be safe enough, if we're careful. Easier on us both, too. I'm not such a young man anymore." He inspected one of his hands, and nudged Tempest up to show it to him—turned back and forth so he could see there were no wounds or sores on it. Tempest checked his own hand, and was pleased to discover that other than a little lingering bruising around the wrist it was in good shape.

Pete nodded when Tempest showed him. "All right, then." He hitched Tempest up a bit, nudging him to the side. "Let's lay you down. My hips hurt just lookin' at you."

Tempest could have straddled a bigger man than Easy Pete for longer without any significant discomfort (he knew from happy experience), but he went over easy, sprawling out on the bed. He kept a handful of Pete's shirt to tug on. "Only if you come here and kiss me," he said, like he was negotiating it despite already being down. Pete didn't quibble. He just climbed over onto Tempest to give him the kiss he wanted.

It felt good to have the solid weight of Easy Pete on top of him. Pete kissed him more boldly, cupping the back of his head in that wonderful strong hand. Tempest was happy to open up and take it. Much as he'd been imagining something else, he wasn't ashamed to admit that the thought of Easy Pete's hands on him had its appeal. His cock was already standing at attention, and he grabbed a healthy handful of Pete's ass to help him grind it up against the older man's hip. That he could feel Pete's answering erection hardening up against him made it damn close to perfect.

The only complaint he had was too many clothes, and it was a problem easily solved. Tempest pulled off the ratty tshirt he'd been lent, and Easy Pete lifted himself up a bit to help Tempest unbutton his shirt so their bare chests could rub together. Pete's chest hair was faintly rough against his own smoother skin. He had strong muscles, but over them the delicate softness of skin that had stretched and sagged the way anyone lucky enough to live long enough earned with age. The contrast was delicious. The kiss and grind and grope was easy to get lost in, and Tempest let himself without hesitation.

He tugged at Pete's belt, struggling for frustrating moments to get it open. He managed it though, proving his unimpaired agility, and got Pete's pants button out of the way next. He had more than earned it when he reached in to take hold of Easy Pete's cock.

It was a fine handful, hot and hard beneath the silken skin, and wet at the tip. Pete groaned when Tempest began stroking, an involuntary shudder passing through his body. Oh, Tempest wanted more of _that_.

"You like that, pardner?" he breathed, swirling the ball of his thumb over the head of Pete's cock, where it peeked out of his foreskin.

Easy Pete groaned again and nodded, beard tickling against Tempest's face. He leaned over a bit to the side, stroking down the side of Tempest's body like he was ready to get in Tempests pants too, but flinched and caught himself.

"Bad shoulder," he said, at Tempest's worried sound. "Twinging on me. I'd better—" He rolled off to the side of Tempest, lying on his back, and Tempest could work with that, too. He didn't let go of Easy Pete's cock, rolling with him to keep in contact. Pete looked good on his back, and his cock looked good too in Tempest's hand—not too big or too small, just right—gleaming at the head and curved off a bit to one side.

Tempest bit his bottom lip, mouth watering on pure instinct. He wasn't going to forget himself and go down without a condom, but Easy Pete didn't give him a chance to struggle against the temptation.

"Nope." Pete grabbed Tempest by the back of the head and pulled him in to kiss, and that was nice too. Very nice. Rough fingers rubbing gently at the back of his neck, playing with the fine stubble, was a wonderful feeling. So was Easy Pete's other hand rubbing at his chest, pinching a nipple, then sliding down his ticklish side to tug at the button of his jeans.

Tempest held himself tremblingly still, making it as easy as possible for Easy Pete to get to his cock. It seemed to take forever, each fumble a special torture devised just for him. He made a low wounded sound when Easy Pete finally pulled his cock out of his boxers, stroking it with a firm grip. Tempest had been wanting it, wanted to _like_ it, but the calloused toughness of Easy Pete's hand was too harsh. He held his breath, waiting too see if the oversensitivity would creep over the edge into pleasure, but it didn't. It just hurt.

"Whoa, there." Tempest tapped Easy Pete's arm, and Pete immediately let his cock go. "You're a little rough. Allow me?"

He could have just spat in Easy Pete's hand, gotten a little slick to ease the way, but that wouldn't be nearly as fun as licking a slow sensuous strip across the palm and then sucking on each and every finger to make sure they were thoroughly wet. He kept eye contact with Easy Pete the whole while. Pete just watched him with a faint smile, but his cock jumped in Tempest's hand to prove how much he was enjoying the show.

"Try that," Tempest said, when he was done licking on Pete's fingers. Easy Pete took his cock in hand again, and it was everything he'd wanted—tight and firm, but without that unpleasant edge.

"Maybe another time." Easy Pete was looking right at his mouth again.

Tempest licked his lips, just to tease a little more. "That a promise?" He meant the words to come out smooth and cocky, but his dick was taking over his higher brain functions, and the effect was more along the lines of 'breathless'. Easy Pete had set a businesslike pace, and Tempest was all riled up to begin with. He wasn't sure if Pete answered; he was moaning too hard himself to really care. His body curled in over Pete's, forehead coming to rest on his shoulder. "There," he gasped, as his orgasm began to sing through his blood. "Right there, pardner, oh!"

He peaked with a gasp and a shudder, a rushing sound in his ears as his come pulsed out over Easy Pete's fingers. It shook him, harder than usual. He was not sure of his body, dizzy with it all.

"Hey," Easy Pete touched his cheek, his neck, his shoulder. "Hey there. All right?"

Tempest swallowed hard, nodding before he managed to get his mouth to make words. "Just fine and dandy."

"Well good." Easy Pete sounded relieved. He wiped his hand off on Tempest's jeans. "Not sure the Doc would forgive me if I undid his hard work."

Tempest laughed—more of a giggle, really—and snuggled down against Easy Pete's side. Warm lethargy swept up over him, gloriously content. He got himself nice and comfortable with his head on Pete's shoulder and his leg over both of Pete's before he remembered there was still a hard cock in his hand and resumed stroking it. That was nice too, though there was a bit of a burn in his arm muscles. He liked the endurance older men tended to develop, liked how they could wear him out when they fucked him, and he liked that he got to keep playing with Easy Pete's cock through the afterglow when everything felt sweet and intimate rather than burning-hot.

Easy Pete was pretty quiet, but he pet Tempest's side and back as he worked. He groaned a bit, here and there, and Tempest soaked in every reaction. Every caught breath, the tightening of his body and the thickening of his cock in the moments just before he came, it was all worth more to him than a whole mess of caps. Easy Pete finished with a soft grunt and a few slow pulses that dribbled down Tempest's hand.

Tempest caught it, as best he could, and wiped it on his already-soiled jeans. Then he took them off, and tossed them on the floor. They were not comfortable for sleeping in, and sleeping was about all Tempest wanted to do.

Easy Pete kissed him softly on the lips, and the forehead, then climbed out of the bed and pulled the blanket up over Tempest. "Let's get you a drink of water, and I'll leave you to your sleep."

"You ain't coming back?" Tempest asked, tugging the blanket close around him. It was a very soft blanket, well worn and cozy.

Easy Pete chuckled, tousling Tempest's hair. "I've got my own, and the other one's better to my back. Not even a hot young thing like you can tempt me away."

"I'll bet you were hotter, in your day."

"I was called 'the real treasure of the Mojave'." Easy Pete struck a pose as he put his hat back on. "'Course, the sweet-talker who said it was trying to steal my claim, but that's a story for another time."

Tempest laughed, and he was fast asleep by the time Easy Pete came back to leave a tin cup of clean water on the bed stand for him.


	2. Ranger Andy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempest laughed, and gave Andy his very best million-watt smile. "You've got me, pardner, I'm shit at this doctor stuff." He reached for a pouch on his new utility belt, fishing out a jimmy hat from his replenished condom stash. He flashed it hopefully between his fingers. "But I _am_ a champion cocksucker, if you're interested."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally nobody wanted this, but I wrote it anyway.

With Ranger Andy, it started with the grappling.

Well—not quite. Tempest talked him up a bit first, because Andy was burly and hot and he seemed lonely. The darker-brown blast scars on the side of his face and neck only added to the rugged charm, really. Turned out the ex-Ranger was feeling down on himself because of his bad leg. And Tempest, well, he wouldn't feel right about leaving him sad. He flirted a bit, reminded him that (great as the packaging was), Andy was worth more for his mind.

Andy chuckled, dropped his eyes a little shyly, and offered to teach Tempest a Ranger move for his trouble. Tempest never had excelled at any type of wrestling that wasn't actually just wrastling, but for the chance to get his hands on a hot Ranger? Sign him up for the bruises!

It went predictably. Andy was a patient teacher, but Tempest invariably ended up flat on his back on the threadbare carpet of Andy's bungalow.

Could have been part of the problem was he _surely_ didn't mind being on his back beneath a grinning Ranger.

So maybe Tempest had half a hard-on by the time Andy called it quits. "You'll get the hang of that takedown," Ranger Andy said, levering himself up off of Tempest before Tempest could ask to kiss him. His touch might have lingered a bit on Tempest's body, though, and his gaze definitely did. "I had trouble learning it at first, too." He winced as he pulled himself painfully to his feet, rubbing at his thigh with the palm of his hand.

"I've gone and made your leg worse!" Tempest sat up and put his hand over Andy's. "Sit, sit. Let me help."

"It'll pass," Andy said, but he did sit on the edge of the bed. This put Tempest kneeling between his legs, which was another place he surely didn't mind being.

"It's my fault," Tempest said, massaging Andy's solid thigh. "It's only right I try and fix it." It was a very nice thigh. He could feel thick, ropey scars from the grenade blast that had taken Andy out of the Rangers, but beneath them surprisingly strong muscles. Andy must work hard at keeping in shape, when he wasn't laid up. Tempest wanted to rub his face all over those thighs, but that would give the game away. He contented himself with leaning lightly against the other leg as he stroked up and down Andy's injured thigh.

"Very dutiful." There was a hint of a laugh in Andy's voice, and there was a droll twist to his mouth when Tempest glanced up at him under his lashes. The jig was definitely up. Andy had seen through the excuse to grope him, but wasn't showing any sign of pushing Tempest away. Time to cut to the chase, then.

Tempest laughed, and gave Andy his very best million-watt smile. "You've got me, pardner, I'm shit at this doctor stuff." He reached for a pouch on his new utility belt, fishing out a jimmy hat from his replenished condom stash. He flashed it hopefully between his fingers. "But I _am_ a champion cocksucker, if you're interested."

Andy smiled back. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. Have you been with a trans man before?"

"Well, a gentleman oughn't to kiss and tell, but I might have done a time or two." Tempest quickly rearranged his expectations, and was no less eager for it. "Let me show you a trick a pretty boy in New Reno taught me."

He tucked the condom back in his pouch, and pulled out a nitrile glove and a little pair of scissors instead. He held the glove up in demonstration as he quickly snipped the fingers off—save for the thumb—and then cut it open on the opposite side from the thumb. In just a moment, he'd turned it into a stretchy sheet with the thumb in the middle to make a tongue-pocket. He stuck his tongue into it to demonstrate, wiggling it at Ranger Andy and waggling his eyebrows.

The glove version of a dental dam was always nicer to use than a condom split lengthwise, at least in Tempest's opinion. Maybe Andy hadn't seen the trick of it before. He blinked quickly, taking in Tempest's new offer, and then the smile lines around his eyes all crinkled up at once and he jerked his belt off to lay the fly of his Ranger armor open. "All right!" he crowed, pleased. "Come here."

Getting closer was exactly what Tempest wanted to do most, so he obeyed. He leaned forward, rubbing his cheeks against Andy's thighs and nuzzling at his wiry black pubic hair. He breathed deep, awash in Andy's thick masculine musk, before he held the dental dam in place and licked a broad stripe all the way up. Andy's hips jumped. He was wet enough already to make everything nice and slippery on the other side of the barrier, and his cock was bigger than Tempest had expected. Years on T had obviously been kind to him.

Tempest flicked his tongue back and forth across Andy's cock, feeling it pulse and harden up, just for him. It was about enough to make a man believe in heaven. He licked up again, spreading his attention over as much of Andy's genitals as he could, searching for what he liked best.

Andy's body tensed, and he let out a grunt as his firm hand took hold of the back of Tempest's head, tugging him upward. "Stick to the cock, soldier," he instructed.

Tempest melted under the touch. "Yes, sir," he breathed. Verbal instruction was most appreciated. Andy's cock twitched against his mouth at the honorific. He was flushed above Tempest, looking down at him like there was nothing else in the world.

Andy flashed his fine white teeth in a smile when their eyes met, but he let go of Tempest's head—instead lightly caressing his cheekbone, just under his eye. He'd been told more than once how striking his eyes were, being somewhere between gray and gold depending on the light. If Andy liked eye contact, Tempest was happy to provide. He tilted his head back as he swirled his tongue lazily around Andy's cock—and realized, with a start, that it was free-standing. It wasn't captured down in his folds. Which meant that Tempest could engulf it in what had once been the thumb of the glove as if it was a condom, and start sucking Andy off in earnest.

"That's the ticket," Andy crooned, thighs tensing against Tempest's shoulders. "Look at you. Anyone ever tell you how pretty you are on your knees?"

Tempest trembled through, moaning on his mouthful of cock. He _had_ been told, and often, but that didn't mean he didn't like hearing it again. He always did enjoy a talker. Andy's cock was wonderfully hard and plump in his mouth. Tempest kept the suction firm, and his mouth and tongue soft as he bobbed on it, lavishing it with his very best.

"Christ, the _mouth_ on you." Andy groaned, hips shifting on the bed to rock slightly into the tempo Tempest was setting. "I could keep you there all day."

Tempest attempted to communicate, via heartfelt moaning, that he'd be more than willing.

Andy seemed to get the gist and chuckled, dirty and breathless. He touched Tempest's face again, a gentle stroke to his jawline. It was sweet and affectionate, and that was nice, but it wasn't quite what Tempest was after.

He paused briefly, holding the dental dam in place with only one hand as he grabbed Andy's hand with the other and moved it the back of his head. "Please," he begged, and squeezed down to make Andy's hand under his take a firm grip on his hair.

"You want it rougher." Ranger Andy hardly waited for Tempest's enthusiastic nod and hum around the cock in his mouth to pull him in tight and start humping. "Don't have to ask twice to make me fuck that sweet mouth of yours. Tap out if it gets too much."

It was sweet of him to offer the out, but Tempest didn't need it. He was exactly where he wanted to be, giving pleasure in obedience to the strong hands that moved him. For a little while, nothing had to exist but sex. He was made for the sucking of cocks; to be soft lips that protected his teeth even as they went numb from the pressure and friction, to absorb the gasped praises that called him so good and so sweet and so pretty. He was born to gaze upward and witness Andy alight in pleasure above him, and be seen in turn; to soak in every detail of Andy's pleasure as he gave it to him. The ache in Tempest's tongue and jaw and knees, and the slight sting as his hair was pulled, were not unpleasant. They were just another facet of the experience.

Andy's groans grew louder and longer, thighs shaking as his stomach tensed. He was close, he must be, but he pulled Tempest away from his cock before he came. "You like that?" he asked, deep and rough. "Still having fun?"

Tempest's mouth worked uselessly as he gasped like a caught fish for the confusing moments before he remembered how to talk. Andy wanted reassurance, in words and not just animal sounds, that Tempest was enjoying himself. Tempest could do that for him. "I ain't tapping out, it's too good. You're so good," he babbled, straining toward Andy's cock. His mouth was watering, and he swallowed hard. He couldn't really taste anything but rubber and his own spit, but the rich smell of Andy's arousal was enough to fool his sex-addled mind into thinking he could. "I want to suck you off, 'till y'come on my face. I'm so hard for you, Pardner, if I had a hand free I'd—"

Andy pulled him back in, and Tempest happily forgot words again in favor of cocksucking. "Figured," Andy groaned, breathless. He ground Tempest's nose into his pubic bone hard enough to make tears spring into his eyes, cruel and perfect, at the same time as he moved his sock-clad foot between Tempest's legs to press on his aching manhood.

Tempest made a broken sound around Andy's cock. It was so much, so much and overwhelming and wonderful. Andy used him and pleasured him and praised him, and came in big tremors with his hand shoved into his mouth to keep himself quiet. He was beautiful, with his head thrown back, neck muscles gleaming with sweat and straining under the cheap motel lights. There were several moments where the bucking of his hips meant Tempest couldn't breathe, and then he was done. "Enough," he gasped, pushing Tempest away, hand closing over his cock to block access to it.

Tempest had done that, had turned a veteran Ranger into a trembling mess on the bed above him. On his knees, he felt like the tallest man in the Mojave as he ripped his belt open to jack off. He rubbed his face against the inside of Andy's thigh, breathed the scent of sweat and sex, and came hard enough to see stars.

There was a quiet moment, afterward, with their gulping breaths the only sound. Andy was collapsed on the bed, and Tempest on the floor between his legs. It couldn't last forever, though. Eventually Tempest found where he'd stashed his cleanup-bandanna in his new utility belt, and set to wiping himself up. Ranger Andy sat up to fasten his underlayers and put his Ranger armor back to rights.

"Do you need to... oh." Andy broke off when he saw that Tempest was already spent and putting himself away. He stroked Tempest's hair, gently, and Tempest sighed and pushed into the touch. "Look at you," Andy breathed. He traced a soft caress around Tempest's tender bruised lips, and then along his cheekbone. "I'll be seeing these eyes in my dreams."

Tempest could feel warmth in his cheeks, blushing like the virgin he hadn't been in quite some time. He jokingly nipped at Andy's fingers in retaliation, and then took the offer of a hand in support when he made to stand. His legs were a bit tingly with returning blood flow, but he didn't let the discomfort show. He was much more interested in resting a knee on the bed beside Andy, in cupping his stubbly cheek, and leaning down to take a gentle kiss from his soft lips.

"Ain't you sweet," Tempest breathed. They kissed again, a thanks and a parting. Tempest stretched as he stepped away, feeling warm and pleased through every inch of his body. "I've _got_ to come through Novac more often."

Andy laughed, eyes sparkling. "God bless a Courier!" He was just as easy with Tempest as he'd been before they'd tumbled, but clearly in higher spirits.

"I do what I can to live up to the reputation," Tempest said, mock-humble. His hat and glasses were where he'd left them on top of Andy's dresser, and he felt more prepared with them on. It wasn't yet as broken in and comfortable as his old one had been, but his new black desperado hat made him feel sharp and classy. "See you around."

"Hey, uh. Wait a sec." Andy reached out, pausing Tempest before he finished turning the doorknob. He looked torn for a moment before he continued. "I know I turned you down earlier, but... if you happen by Ranger Station Charlie, let me know what you find. I'd be interested."

Tempest tipped his hat. "For you, handsome, I'd be glad to." He saw himself out with a wink and a blown kiss over his shoulder, leaving Ranger Andy flushed and happy in his wake. There was a spring in his step as he walked away.

Tempest might only be a week out of an early grave, but he clearly still had it.


	3. Raul Tejada

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seducing Raul did not go so smoothly. But Tempest managed, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is best read in a browser, as there are many mouseover translations to be had--all thanks to Victor/ironhammer for helping me with the Spanish. Any remaining mistakes are entirely mine.  
> There should be mouseover translations to most words written in Spanish, and also translations of phrases written in English and surrounded by <> to denote that they are spoken in Spanish. So many span tags. I have probably broken some.  
> -TS

Seducing Raul Tejada did not go as smoothly. Possibly because Tempest showed up to his shack so sick on radiation it was a wonder he didn't glow.

It wasn't how Tempest wanted to go about it, but Raul's place was the closest friendly location to Vault 34, which Tempest should not have gone exploring in. Should not, but had.

Tempest had radaway in his pack. He was going to be fine, he just needed someplace safe to go through the detox. Someplace safe, with someone he wouldn't infect with radiation himself. Raul fit the bill, so Tempest staggered toward the mark on his map in the hopes Raul's good will after Black Mountain would extend to letting Tempest crash at his place.

He almost didn't.

"What the hell, boss, why would you come here?" Raul grumbled at him. "You need a doctor. You can't make an old man to carry you all the way to New Vegas."

Tempest could tell that's exactly what he was going to do, though. He could tell when someone couldn't help helping, and Raul didn't _want_ to but he was going to drag Tempest all the way to a clinic. He was so damn tired, though. So tired, and so sick, and he couldn't bear the thought of walking another step. He couldn't. And he most especially couldn't afford to let Benny know he was still alive, not when he was so close to getting into the Strip. Bullets to the brain not accepted, return to fucking sender.

Being laid up somewhere Benny could find him to finish the job was not an option. He had the radaway, he needed somewhere to lay low, and Raul wasn't going to let him.

So Tempest cheated.

" _Raul._ " Tempest said the name like it was meant to be said, with a rolled 'r' and a clean 'a'. " _Por favor,_ " he begged, and he was sick enough he didn't even have to try and make his voice sound soft and broken. He sagged against the worn fence that was about the only thing actually holding him upright. "... _por favor_."

" _Hijo de_ —" Raul swore, and finally relented. He wrapped his arm around Tempest's back to support him, guiding him toward the little tin shack. "Fine. You win, boss. Let's get you inside."

Tempest was feverish enough that Raul with his ghoulish high body temperature felt cool to the touch, which was probably a bad sign. He held as tight as he could to Raul's narrow shoulders, and tried to keep as much of his weight as he could on his own two feet.

"Better set me up near the privy," he requested. "This is bound to get ugly."

"You think I don't know that?" Raul dumped him unceremoniously on a thin mattress and walked away, muttering under his breath.

Tempest had half a bottle of vodka in his pack, convenient to sterilize both his hand and the needle. He was still coordinated enough to get the IV in and start the first round of radaway by the time Raul came back with two bottles of clean water and a handful of banana yucca for him.

"Thanks pardner," Tempest said, breaking one of the waters open and weakly saluting Raul with it before he drank. Dehydration was the biggest danger in a radaway detox. "I'm gonna owe you one." That was about the last coherent communication he was able to engage in for a while. The radaway started kicking in, leaving him disoriented and weak.

Woozy as hell and violently losing fluids in every possible way wasn't a good look on anyone. If he were in his right mind, Tempest wouldn't have come on to _anyone_ in that state. But he wasn't. So he did. Raul was crouched above him, strong and weathered in the dusty sunset light. His dry hand was gentle, touching Tempest's face and neck to check on his temperature as he replaced the cool cloth on Tempest's forehead. He felt like shit, utter shit, and Raul was kind and _right there_.

Tempest grabbed Raul's arm, made his best attempt at a rakish smile, and came right out with, "Hey. We oughta fuck." It wasn't his best come-on, but he wasn't at his best and he'd had success with worse in his day.

"Heh, suuure." Even as sick as he was, Tempest could hear the thick sarcasm in Raul's voice. He twisted his rough wrist out of Tempest's weak grip, replaced his damp cloth, and left. He came back, though, to make sure Tempest could at least keep down a sarsaparilla and a handful of toasted buffalo gourd _pepitas_ before he started the second round of radaway.

That one lasted through half the night, and Tempest was too out of it to even flirt those times Raul checked on him. Once he was done heaving his guts out, and other less-dignified ways of passing radiation, he drank whatever Raul had left for him, and slept like the dead until the sun was high.

Showing up to a man's house sick as a dog and propositioning him while drugged to the gills and gross as hell wasn't the way to go about it. Tempest could salvage the situation, though. First step, of course, was to stop being gross as hell. He gave himself a thorough wipe-down, cleaning the radaway-sweat-stink off his body, and had a shave. A splash of his homemade broc flower extract on his cheeks as an aftershave, and his underarms as deodorant, and he smelled downright fancy. The merc outfit with the red shirt seemed like the best option as far as clean clothes went. He looked sharp and charming, in it, and he felt better too when he was all put together.

Still weak and shaky, but better.

Tempest smoothed his sleek dark-brown hair back, pleased to note that he wasn't shedding too much despite the radiation and radaway, and left the little shack in search of Raul.

Raul wasn't far away. He was perched on a little stool by a small cook fire, stirring a pot of something that smelled amazing. Tempest greeted him with a smile and a touch to his shoulder, and sat on the ground beside his stool. Both because it pleased him to sit conveniently lower than a man, and because he was already tired. His endurance had definitely taken a hit, but he'd bounce back soon enough, particularly if he got to eat whatever Raul was cooking.

"Looks like I made it through," Tempest said, "But if I hadn't, I think your cooking would've raised me up anyway. It's the best thing I've smelled in ages."

" _Rata con mole_ ," Raul said, watching him from the corner of his eye to see if he understood.

"It's been too damn long since I had a good _mole_! Giant rat or mole rat?" Tempest asked, not missing a beat.

"Mole rat." Raul stirred the pot, lifting the carved wooden spoon to show Tempest the red sauce. It looked like it still had a bit of cooking-down to do. "<How'd you learn Spanish, boss?>" he asked, switching to Spanish entirely.

Tempest laughed and answered him in the same. "<How couldn't I? Couriers are wanderers, no one knows where we're from. Did you think my Mama calls me 'Tempest'?>" He rolled his eyes a bit at his chosen name. It suited him fine, but it wasn't anything a family would have chosen for their precious baby boy.

"<Clearly not,>" Raul prodded at the coals around the pot, getting them to settle just so, and switched back to English. "I didn't expect it. I didn't pick up on you at all."

"That's the point, pardner." Tempest flicked a little piece of flaked bark from by his boot into the fire. "It's that... _cómo se llama..._ " He waved his hand around, and then snapped his fingers when the phrase came to him. "Code Switch. If you sound like you belong somewhere, then you belong. And Tempest is a good ol' Mojave boy. Nobody's lookin' twice, unless they so happen to be captivated by my pretty face."

Tempest framed his face with one hand and fluttered his eyelashes up at Raul, which made him laugh and lightly kick Tempest in the leg.

The second step, after looking and smelling good, was establishing camaraderie. Tempest had that so easy with Raul it was downright cheating. Good thing he never had thought it was poor sportsmanship to play his strengths.

It was nice for Tempest too, to show a side of himself he didn't often have a chance to share. He was careful not to put a name to anyone from home, or mention any landmarks or identifiable details about the community that could lead anyone to it. Not that he distrusted Raul, particularly, it was just too careful and well-kept a habit. There was so much else he could share, though.

He and Raul talked about food, what you could and couldn't get this far north, with Raul complaining about seasonings and vegetables you couldn't get at _all_ since the bombs. He reminded Tempest of his little ghoulish _abuelitas_ in that, and he told Raul about learning to make tamales at their knees while he helped make a little pot of _posole_ to go with the spicy mole rat.

"What's your favorite tamal filling?" Raul asked, over big bowls of _mole_. It had come out perfectly, the meat fall-apart tender, tangy and sweet and burning-hot with jalapeno.

"Well, dog's never bad, or javelina if you can hunt 'em," Tempest mused. "And you can't go far wrong with brahmin, but the very best tamal I ever had was... you're gonna laugh at me."

"Now I have to know!" Raul leaned forward eagerly.

Tempest ducked his head. "Yao guai."

"Yao guai!" Raul howled and smacked Tempest on the shoulder. "Jeeze, boss, I would have broken out the fine china if I knew I was dining with royalty!"

"It ain't like that!" Tempest defended, laughing along with Raul as he played at fending him off. "I had them _one time_ . My cous was marrying and her family pulled out all the stops. I've never seen a party like it, to this day. So much food, music all night, the girls all looking like flowers in their big dresses! _Las abuelitas_ said it was just like the old world."

"Ah," Raul sighed, expression going soft with nostalgia. "Did you dance with all the pretty girls and break their hearts?"

"Nah, pardner, the girls were safe from me." Tempest let himself smile, just a little sly, watching Raul in his peripheral vision. "The groom's little brother, on the other hand..."

Making it clear that he was gay was another important step, as well as gauging Raul's response to that information.

Raul lifted one ragged eyebrow, glancing toward Tempest, and then back to his food with a small smile. Not a bad reaction. Promising.

They both ate their fill, and Tempest felt a lot stronger and steadier after the traditional afternoon _siesta_ to let it settle through the hottest hours of the day. He was better enough to offer to help Raul fix some things up around his place. He wasn't as skilled as Raul, but he wasn't bad with a hammer or a wrench, and there were some things that were just easier to do with two people than one. He didn't want to be nothing but a burden to Raul, showing up sick and fucking off as soon as he was better. He could help out, and leave Raul better off than when he arrived.

They fixed up the fence, re-tightened the clothes line, and worked on the shack's roof a bit to make it more weather-proof, and then took a rest in the shade. Raul had real fresh apples and pears and sweet agave to share, along with _pepitas_. It made for a perfect afternoon snack.

Tempest nibbled on his agave leaf slowly, savoring its candy-sweetness. "We should have saved some to make a batch of tequila," he mused. "Seems like everyone's about the whiskey 'round these parts, but I'll take tequila any day. _Mama—_ " he broke himself off quickly, before he spoke Mama Rosa's name. "One of my _abuelitas_ brews a big batch every year. Just the fumes off the vat are about strong enough to kill a brahmin! But once it's done, it's so sweet and smooth you hardly feel it going down."

"Why'd you leave, boss?" Raul asked. "You obviously loved it. You had a family."

It was true, and Tempest didn't feel too bad about Raul having seen into him that way. It was inevitable, if he was talking about home. "Eh, same old story. Little town, big world outside it. I got itchy feet. I'll go home someday, to the best place on earth. Just... not quite yet."

"Wish I could see it." Raul sighed.

Tempest didn't _want_ to do it. He didn't want to obfuscate and change subjects and figure out a way to let Raul down gentle. He didn't want to deny Raul access to a home that would probably suit him just as well or better than it did Tempest, when he was one of Tempest's people alone and lonely in the Mojave, but he didn't really have a choice. As much as he liked Raul, he'd only known him for a few days.

Raul cut him off before Tempest more than opened his mouth. "I know. Never going to happen. Nobody's as careful as you if they're not trying to protect something. You changed your name and everything." Raul sighed, shrugged a shoulder, and handed Tempest another handful of _pepitas_. "I understand."

"<They're my people. My family. Nothing I do, for good or bad, can turn against them.>" It was truth, honesty he could give Raul even if it was nothing like being able to offer him a home. It was as much as Tempest _could_ give him, and Raul understood. It was a sad and heavy understanding, though. Tempest couldn't bear it long without trying to lighten the mood. "Do you know why I chose 'Tempest'?"

"Cause you're a whirlwind?" Raul guessed. "and always just blowing through?"

"Not even close, pardner." Tempest grinned and took another big bite of agave, savoring the sweet juice as he chewed. Raul made an impatient 'go on' gesture at him. "Well... it's a temporary name. Temporary – Temp – _Tempest_."

Raul stared, realized Tempest was dead serious, and howled, smacking his leg.

Tempest couldn't help laughing with him. "I'd like to see you come up with better, if you were on the spot!"

Raul wiped his eyes, still chuckling. "Oh, I did much worse." He pointed to his faded 'Miguel' name tag. "Found the jumpsuit, took the name."

"Ain't we a matched set." Tempest bumped his shoulder against Raul's, and dug around in his pack to come up with a sarsaparilla. He popped the cap off and took a long swig before handing it over to Raul.

"You'll rot my teeth, boss," Raul complained, but he took the bottle and drank with every sign of enjoyment before handing it back.

That was another step, laying a groundwork of casual intimacy. It was Tempest's natural inclination to touch and be close, and Raul was clearly already comfortable with friendly, platonic gestures. It was a good foundation to build far less platonic affection on.

Tempest didn't push it, though. No need to rush a good thing, and risk ruining it. He and Raul teased and talked through the rest of the day, falling into companionable quiet now and again. Tempest didn't bring up anything about the possibility of sex until they were bedding down for the night—Tempest in his bedroll, and Raul nearby on the bed he had reclaimed now Tempest wasn't half-dying on it.

"I wish I hadn'ta said it how I did, last night," Tempest said, quiet in the dusk. "But I still think you and I could have fun together. Even more when I'm not delirious on radaway."

"Oh, _sure_ boss." Raul drawled, thick with sarcasm. "Let me just whip out my ripped up ghoul dick and give you another dose of radiation. That's a great idea."

Tempest snorted. "I have condoms." It wasn't like Raul was a glowing one. He wasn't _that_ radioactive. Avoiding direct contact with his fluids, which Tempest would have done anyway, would be plenty. (Tempest knew from happy experience). "Or, if you're really worried, I could pop a rad-x."

"Boss..." Raul sounded uncomfortable.

"I never asked you to call me that, Raul," Tempest said, softly. He yawned, jaw cracking, and snuggled down into his bedroll. "Not tonight, anyway, I'm tired. And it's just an offer to think on, no pressure. You know what couriers are like."

Seducing Raul correctly was like building a campfire. The groundwork was done, preparing the landscape, the tinder set, the firewood gathered. All that was left was to see if Raul was going to step up and light the spark to set it ablaze, or walk away.

There was only so far Tempest could take it alone. He wasn't above nudging Raul toward taking that last step, though.

Raul didn't bring up Tempest's offer in the morning. Raul made scrambled gecko eggs flavored with the leftover _mole_ sauce, and Tempest made a big pot of mesquite coffee to share. Afterward, Tempest hauled enough water to refill Raul's wash water barrel and then helped deep-clean his shack, getting to stuff that wasn't easy for an arthritic man to get to.

"It's the least I can do, for letting me stay with you."

Raul didn't bring anything up, but Tempest did catch him looking, a time or two. Considering the offer.

Tempest did laundry, once the shack was clean. Both to clean Raul's things and his own clothes. That he stripped down to his boxers to do it, though, was entirely an effort to sweeten the pot. He hunkered down beside the wash basin, showing off those trademark courier legs and ass, midmorning sunlight shining down on his tan skin to gleam like old-world gold. He knew he looked good, and Raul went very still behind him when he stepped out of the shack and saw.

Tempest kept scrubbing the laundry against the washboard, rocking lightly with the rhythm. He had the stamina to keep going for hours, and there was nothing wrong with showing the fact off. He arched his spine just a bit extra, thighs flexing to keep his balance as he rocked slowly forward. He threw a grin over his shoulder to see if his audience was appreciating the show.

Raul was holding on to the door very tight, gaze fixed on Tempest. "Oh sure, make fun of the old man," Raul complained, as soon as Tempest met his eye.

"I ain't," Tempest promised, turning back to his washing. He did, really, want to get it done. That Raul stayed watching in the doorway was only a bonus, but one he quite liked the possibilities of. When he was done, and wrung out the last piece of clothing, Raul joined him to help hang them on the line. They worked in silence, right to the last few pieces.

"So?" Tempest asked, needlessly straightening out the shirt that hung between them.

"Look at you," Raul said, doing no such thing as he picked up the next piece of clothing to hang. "You could have anyone. What are you doing throwing yourself at an old ghoul, huh?"

"I could," Tempest agreed lightly. "I have had and _will_ have any number of other men. At the moment, I want you. If you want." He picked up the last piece of laundry, a pillow case, and hung it neatly over the line. Tempest felt good, strong again, warm from sun and exercise, and he _wanted_. The excitement bubbled in his chest, everything so close now. Either Raul took him or turned him down, but it was close now.

"You got some kind of thing for humiliation, boss? Is that what this—"

"No!" Tempest broke Raul off, excitement going cold. He ducked under the damp pillow case, joining Raul in the strangely private space between the lines of laundry. "It ain't like that," he said, softly. "I like sex, and I like you." He reached up, hesitating before he cupped Raul's leathery cheek. "I've made it with ghouls before, and that's nothin' I'll ever be ashamed of, or disgusted by."

Tempest stroked Raul's cheek with his thumb, stopped in the face of his non-reaction, and drew his hand back. He'd set the fire wrong, somehow, and it wasn't catching. Time to end it with some dignity, then, and hope he hadn't ruined the friendship. Tempest took a small step back, giving Raul some space. "I respect you," he said, with his whole heart behind it.

If he'd done things right, that wouldn't have ever been in question. Tempest fully intended to walk away, get dressed, and come back to face the consequences like an adult. He would have, if Raul hadn't taken a quick aggressive step into his space, grabbed him by the back of the head, and pulled him into a kiss. It happened hard and fast, and Tempest hardly had the sense or the time to close one surprised arm around Raul's back before it was over.

"Call," Raul growled, like it was a round of poker he thought he'd won.

Tempest leaned in, closing the space again when Raul would have drawn back. "Weren't bluffing," he breathed against Raul's mouth, and kissed him as sweet and soft and gentle as was humanly possible.

If anything was a bluff, here, it was the mean edge Raul had put on. Tempest melted his way right through it. Raul's ragged lips were inhumanly warm, his mustache a slight tickle against Tempest's upper lip, as he pressed soft little kisses to his mouth. Raul gasped in a quick breath when Tempest traced the seam of his lips with the tip of his tongue. His hand tightened on the back of Tempest's head again, and Raul's mouth _finally_ moved to answer the kiss.

Tempest moaned, opening eagerly to the press of Raul's tongue. The warmth flooded back into his body, the bubbling anticipation. He pulled Raul close, held him tight as the kisses turned slick and dirty between them. When Raul's rough hand stroked from his waist all the way up his back, Tempest shuddered through with a hungry whimper. It was exactly what he wanted. He attempted to communicate, via body contact, exactly how willing and biddable he was. His whole body was soft and pliable, other than the part that was very hard and pressed against Raul's hip.

Raul drew back with a gasp, breaking the kiss. Tempest's eyes fluttered back open to see Raul staring at him. He glanced down, to where Tempest's boxers were doing absolutely nothing to conceal his arousal, and then back up to his face. "Oh," he said, for once seeming to lack a sarcastic comeback.

"So, about that offer?" Tempest prompted, raising an eyebrow.

Raul groaned and marched back to his shack, but he did it with Tempest's wrist held tight in his hand. Tempest was more than happy to follow him, laughing in breathless anticipation.

"Take that rad-x," Raul said, setting him loose. Tempest jumped to obey, fishing the little bottle out of his discarded utility belt and holding two pills up to show Raul before popping them in his mouth and chasing them with a sip of purified water.

He got a condom and a little lube bottle out at the same time, and flashed the foil packet between his fingers. "How do you want me? I'd be willing to take you about any way you like."

Raul had started unzipping his Petro-Chico jumpsuit, baring the threadbare tshirt he had on underneath, but stopped halfway. His hand was tight, gripping the zipper pull. "I'm... pretty beat up, boss. I've got a lot of scars. I mean, even for a ghoul. I'm not comfortable showing..."

He was getting nervous, like he wanted to back out. Kissing helped before, so Tempest closed the short distance between them and kissed Raul sweetly again, trying to draw him out and prove to him that he was wanted. "I wouldn't mind. But if you like we could improvise me a blindfold?" he offered, before letting his smile grow roguish, with wagged eyebrows. "Unless you'd rather plow me face down into my bedroll?"

Raul swore, snatching the condom out of Tempest's hand. "<Face down. Go.> But there's not going to be any _plowing._ I'm an old man. My days of chasing hot tail were over centuries ago."

"Good thing this hot piece of tail came chasin' you." Tempest winked and stripped out of his boxers, tossing them carelessly over his shoulder. He quickly spread a blanket from his bed roll on Raul's mattress, and displayed himself on it. Ass up in the air, face down on one arm, knees spread plenty wide for Raul's spare frame, and a healthy squeeze of lube on his fingers to work them into himself and make sure he was slick and ready.

Tempest grinned up at Raul, who was staring down at him with a very promising bulge in the front of his jumpsuit, and then deliberately closed his eyes. If Raul didn't want to be seen, Tempest could do that for him.

He heard the sound of a zipper, the crinkle of the condom wrapper, the rustle of fabric moving behind him. Tempest pumped his fingers into himself one last time, pulled them out nice and slow, and then groped around for the lube bottle and set it helpfully beside his knee.

Raul's rough leathery hand landed on Tempest's ass, giving a little squeeze, and Tempest moaned and arched into the contact. It didn't seem like Raul was in any hurry to move on from just that much. Tempest felt the brush of fabric along his legs, heard the squelch of lube, but was getting no attention where he wanted it.

" _¡Vamonos, hoy dia!_ " Tempest urged, spreading his legs a bit wider and flexing his ass at Raul.

"Young people these days, no manners," Raul griped with a smile in his voice. There was movement behind Tempest, the rustling of cloth and the shifting of weight on the bed, and then _teeth_ nipped him right on the ass cheek.

Tempest squeaked and jolted, and then giggled at his own reaction. He put on his very sweetest and most penitent voice. " _Démelo por favor, Señor Tejada_."

He was expecting the second bite.

"Now you're making me feel like an even dirtier old man, boss."

Raul was finally moving, one hand sliding up Tempest's back while his slick cock began nudging at Tempest's ass. Tempest leaned back into it, a sigh escaping him as he relaxed into the intrusion. They rocked together slowly, gradually working Raul's cock deeper into him. It had been a while since Tempest had the pleasure, and it was every bit as good as he remembered. Raul had a very nice cock, not too big. Tempest could even feel a bit of the scarred texture, through the condom. Not enough to be rough, just different enough to add interest.

"Oh, there we go," Tempest purred. He worked his ass, a glorious grind on Raul's cock. "Right there, pardner. I could ride you all day."

Raul huffed, strong hands clenching on Tempest's hips. His body curled in above Tempest's, the softness of his thin tshirt tickling Tempest's back, and his breath hot on Tempest's shoulder blades. He moved slow and steady, easy little thrusts, but far too soon he was tapping Tempest's thigh.

"Down. Lie down. This is killing my knees."

Tempest obediently slid flat, slow enough that Raul could ride him down and they never had to come apart. Raul's body came to rest on top of his, and he pressed a kiss to Tempest's shoulder before he started thrusting again. Tempest almost opened his eyes and craned back to beg a kiss to the mouth before he remembered and just smiled into his arms as he rocked slowly beneath Raul.

There was an intimacy to that, the blindness, and the feel of Raul on him. Raul's scarred arms bracketed him, inhumanly warm bare skin against his—the slide of Raul's tshirt against his back—the loose fabric of what he could only assume was the top half of Raul's jumpsuit against his legs. Tempest was reduced to a creature of sensation, and all the sensations were good. The blanket beneath him was weathered soft, and comfortable enough to hump his cock against as Raul fucked him.

"Getting what you wanted?" Raul asked. "Just don't ask me to go any harder. My creaky bones can't take it."

"Don't need hard," Tempest purred, deliberately squeezing down on Raul's cock to make him gasp. "Not when you could ride me slow and see how long it takes me to lose my damn mind. But if you wanted to budge up a little, I think we could... Oooh." He moaned as Raul complied, changing the angle to get more direct pressure on his prostate. Deeper pleasure bloomed through his core. _"¡Rauuuul, así! ¡Así!"_

"Do you ever stop being pushy?"

Tempest laughed, breathless. "You put it in the wrong end if you wanted me sweet and quiet. Live and learn!"

Raul groaned. His hand landed on Tempest's face, groping around a bit before he pushed two fingers against Tempest's lips. Tempest opened easily, more than willing to suck as he was fucked. He swirled his tongue around Raul's rough fingers, bobbed his head on them in time with the roll of his hips. Raul had no fingernails to worry about, which was nice. His fingers twitched, pushing down on the back of Tempest's tongue, and he cursed softly when Tempest moaned and relaxed his throat to let them deeper instead of gagging.

They built a rhythm together, slow and easy. The Mojave sun warmed the shack. Tempest's sweat stuck Raul's shirt to his back. The edge of it rode up, so more of Raul's scarred belly rubbed against Tempest's ass. The scent of exerting ghoul surrounded him, and it wasn't _bad_. It wasn't like rot, how some people claimed. It was just... earthy. Different from the way an exercising human smelled, but not worse. It was a familiar smell to Tempest, comfortable and homey, and he floated in it like the pleasure-seeking creature he was.

He was filled up, fucked, and appreciated. Raul's ragged lips moved against his nape, his shoulders, kissing and nipping and even whispering a few secret little words to him. They were softer and gentler than he'd thought Raul's sarcasm would ever allow, and Tempest treasured them more than all the caps and bullets in his many pockets.

When Raul sped up a little, gasping that he was close, Tempest wrestled an arm underneath himself to grab his cock. It was slippery-wet with precome, and Tempest moaned louder around Raul's fingers as he stroked it. His thighs trembled, the prolonged effort of meeting Raul's thrusts getting to him as he held both his own weight and Raul's up through those last glorious moments. The pleasure shook through him, hot and hard, and he clenched tight on Raul's cock as it pulsed inside him with the ghoul's orgasm.

Tempest collapsed flat again, just breathing, with Raul's breath hot on his neck.

"Let me just," Raul grunted uncomfortably as he climbed off of Tempest, like he'd done something that hurt. He moved away from Tempest, so he could only track him by the sound of rustling cloth on the other end of the bed.

"Let me know when I can open my eyes," Tempest requested.

"Hold on, hold on," Raul grumbled. "We're not all young and springy like you." There was more rustling of cloth, the squelchy sound of a condom being dealt with, and finally the burr of a zipper being pulled up. "There we go."

Tempest stretched and opened his eyes to the bright white afternoon light. He found his cleanup bandana in his utility belt, and gave himself only the briefest wipe to clean up. He could have taken the time to more thoroughly clean himself. He could have got up and got dressed and got a drink of water. He wanted to do all those things, and he would, but first there was something much more important to do.

He crawled weakly to Raul and draped himself into his arms, holding on to him tight, face nuzzled into his leathery neck. He shivered into it when Raul stroked his back. "<Thank you. I needed that.>"

Raul sighed, but with no force behind it. "I'm too old for this. Old enough to know better."

That was exactly what Tempest had been worried about, that Raul would get maudlin and regret a little afternoon delight. There might not be much Tempest could do about it, but he wasn't going to just _not try_.

Tempest leaned back just a little, enough to gaze up at Raul with his very best and softest eyes. "But it sure is fun to go and do it anyway, ain't it?"

Raul exhaled, shaking his head slightly as he brushed Tempest's sweat-damp hair back from his face. "Yeah, boss. It is pretty fun."

Tempest kissed him, slow and deep, with his eyes open. Like that could prove to Raul that he was still wanted, even when Tempest was fucked out and no longer particularly horny. Raul kissed him back just as sweet, and Tempest was smiling when he drew back.

"Cuddle with me," he invited. "It's time for a _siesta_ anyway."

"How kind of you to invite me to share my own bed, in my own shack," Raul grumbled, but he did pull Tempest down with him when he lay down. Tempest, for his part, clung to Raul as tight as a tick on a brahmin, and let the heat of the afternoon lull him into an easy contented rest.

It was time to move on, the next morning. Tempest was strong and able, his gear clean and fresh, and he'd imposed on Raul's space long enough.

"Off to Vegas, huh?" Raul said. "I'm sure you won't lose your caps all in one place, boss."

Tempest laughed. "I promise I'll try and spread them around."

Raul didn't laugh with him. "Yeah, well... you can always come back and sleep on my floor when you're broke. I could use a healthy young manservant to do all the heavy lifting for me."

Tempest gave his best high-voltage smile, setting his hat on his head. "Please. I'm the lucky bitch who walked off two to the head. They ain't going to know what hit 'em." He touched his scarred temple and made a finger-gun at Raul, the motion almost a salute. That bastard Benny, in particular, wasn't going to know what hit him, but that wasn't the kind of thing to advertise in advance. "Watch, I'll be putting you up as my kept man in the nicest casino on the strip before you know it."

"Sure," Raul said. "I'll just hold my breath, waiting for that to happen."

" _Ya verás_ ," Tempest promised, settling his pack and making sure his best rifle was easy at hand. "<See you later, pardner.>"

He touched the brim of his hat, and set out into the sun-drenched Mojave.

He was due for a second meeting with destiny, and he sure would hate to keep it waiting


	4. Interlude 1 -- Raul meets Boone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you wondered where Raul got the supplies to take care of Tempest last chapter: the answer is Craig Boone.
> 
> Tempest didn't wonder, because he can be a wee bit obliviously self-centered at times. But I still love him.

Raul couldn't say he was surprised. He'd known the Courier was trouble. You didn't live to two centuries past the apocalypse without being able to tell the type. Raul's eyes might not be so good anymore, but one look at Tempest and he knew. Silver tongue, dead eye; either the life of the party or the death you never saw coming—no in between.

Tempest carried an aura around him like a brewing storm, electric. Raul could practically taste the ozone in the air. So no, he couldn't say he was surprised when Tempest came to his shack dragging trouble behind him.

When they met, Raul kind of needed some trouble on his side.

Tempest had treated him like any other man, like he didn't even notice Raul was a ghoul. He'd spirited Raul out of his prison, taken Tabitha down with three nearly-silent rifle shots out of the darkness before Raul could even draw his gun, and led him a careful path off of Black Mountain that managed to avoid every single Super Mutant patrol on it.

Raul wouldn't have made it, on his creaky old knees, if Tempest hadn't given him a hand. He didn't actually realize that's what was happening, the first time Tempest reached down to help him up a rock. He stared, uncomprehending, at Tempest's palm, until Tempest laughed a quiet little huff in the dark, opening and closing the hand at him in an impatient gesture.

"Take my hand, pardner. Promise I ain't gonna drop you."

Humans didn't touch ghouls if they could help it, as a general rule. Tempest didn't seem to have heard that rule. He didn't flinch away from Raul's ruined skin. His hands were cool and steady, any time he touched Raul, with no hesitation at all. Tempest wasn't a big man, but he was strong enough to pull Raul up when their path took them up, and to plant himself to steady Raul when their path took them down.

Tempest was the kind of man to break into a Super Mutant fortress to rescue an old ghoul on a whim, the kind to share supplies with him once they were in the clear. Bullets, gecko steaks, water, and even a couple stimpacks: Tempest saw Raul off with more than he needed to safely get back to his old abandoned shack.

A force of chaos, both kind and deadly. Trouble. Exactly the kind of man to show up at someone's shack half-dead of radiation, with a sniper's scope glinting on the hills behind him.

The sniper was _good_ , Raul hadn't noticed them until Tempest really started begging to stay. Which meant very bad things for him and Tempest. If it weren't for the sniper, Raul would have dragged Tempest directly to one of the Followers clinics in Vegas. He wasn't set up to take care of anyone, especially not someone hauling so many rads Raul could feel them beating against his skin from two meters out. But there _was_ a sniper, so the best Raul could do was get Tempest inside and out of the line of fire as quickly as possible.

It made for a long afternoon. Tempest was like his name. He carried the curse of interesting times, and he'd come to inflict them on Raul. He wasn't even coherent enough to realize it, once the radaway started kicking in. And didn't watching over someone that sick just bring back all kinds of _great_ memories of the early days after the bombs fell.

It was easier to worry about the sniper.

Raul's eyes might be dimmer than they'd once been, but Tempest had a pair of binoculars hooked to his pack and he didn't seem to notice or care when Raul borrowed them. The sniper was good, but Raul could guarantee he had more experience, and he had the benefit of familiar ground. He knew how to see _out_ of his shack without being seen. There wasn't much he could tell about the sniper. He only caught glimpses, the rare glint of a scope, a shadow against a rock that was a different shape than usual. The gun itself was matte, another point to the sniper's professionalism. No shiny barrel to give it away.

Against a single shooter, Raul could hold the shack. He just had to make sure the sniper didn't get a lucky shot off, and he could do that. The real problem was if the sniper was a forward scout, and went for friends. That, or if they settled in for a siege. Raul was a ghoul. He could last a good long while on just the background radiation of the Mojave. Not happily, not comfortably, but he could. Tempest, not so much. He needed food and water, much more than Raul did, and especially because the radaway treatment was taking so much out of him.

It looked like Tempest had a little food and drink in his pack, when Raul checked, but not near enough. He wouldn't last three days, even rationing. Tempest's little canteen wouldn't last forever. Any reasonably supplied sniper could outlast them, even without bolstering their supplies with hunting. So there was that to worry about.

It did not help Raul's peace of mind when the sniper disappeared, around mid-afternoon. He wasn't so naïve as to think they were gone for good. If Tempest were in any shape to move, Raul would have moved him—left while the coast was clear. He wasn't, though. He was so out of it he thought propositioning _Raul_ was a good idea. If Raul was younger and stronger, he'd have carried him. But he wasn't, and couldn't.

So there they stayed, sitting ducks, waiting for sniper and friends to return.

Raul toasted some _pepitas_ with a blowtorch, since his cook fire was outside and out of bounds, and made Tempest eat them along with a sarsaparilla from his pack, between radaway rounds. He didn't think Tempest would mind that he spent a little time maintaining his guns, between rounds of checking all sight lines with the binoculars for the sniper's return.

It was better than looking at Tempest, flushed and shaky, sweating bucket, eyes bloodshot—from the force of throwing up, Raul told himself, and not from turning ghoul. He wasn't turning ghoul, or dying. His skin wasn't going to slough away, and his organs weren't going to turn to paste. He had radaway and... and Raul would figure something out before he completely ran out of water.

The sniper took their sweet time, coming back. Tempest had quietly cried himself to sleep for at least a little while, curled into a miserable ball of pain on Raul's mattress. Med-x would have taken the edge off, but Raul didn't have any, and he couldn't find any in Tempest's pack when he looked. The sun was well down, and only the luck of a bright moon let Raul see the sniper cautiously approaching. Like he thought Raul would be asleep, and he'd catch them unawares. Raul slipped out the back of the shack, where it didn't look like a door against the cliff face, and crept around to the side—cursing his aching knees the entire time. He was in place, in partial cover and unseen, by the time the sniper made it to the fence.

Raul announced himself by pulling the hammer back on his revolver, an unmistakable ratcheting sound in the dark. The sniper stopped in his tracks, head whipping to the side. Raul did not deign to step out of cover and into the light.

"No fast moves, _Amigo_ ," he growled. "I've been doing this longer than you." Oh, he had. This was an old dance, and he'd danced it well and long. His heart was racing, but his hands were steady. Always steady. He might be past his prime, but _nobody_ got the drop on him. He might not be able to beat the sniper at a distance, but he was in Raul's range now. "Give me one reason not to put you down."

The sniper raised his hands, slow and empty, as he straightened up. "I'm a friend," he said, voice dry, like a man not used to talking. "Friend of Tempest." He was wearing a beret fastened with a pin, faintly red in the moonlight—like the NCR's infamous First Recon, and Raul's heartbeat kicked up another notch. What had Tempest done to win the ire of the NCR, and bring one of their elite to his door?

"Oh, you're his friend? I see," Raul said. "The kind of 'friend' who tracks him through the Mojave? Watches for him through a rifle scope all day? Sure, I think I know that kind of friend."

The sniper blinked, swallowed. "He... sent me away. But he wasn't... well. I followed. I brought supplies." He gestured faintly with one thumb toward the strap of a duffle bag over his shoulder.

That would put things in a very different light, if it was true. Raul wasn't so sure. "Where the fuck were you when he was drowning in rads?"

"Waiting," the sniper said, like words hurt. "Outside. Like he asked."

Another thing that could be very possible, given what Raul knew of Tempest. The best survival instincts, he did not have. He might very well put himself in danger while leaving his 'friend' in safety. Still didn't make Raul trust the sniper.

"What's in the bag?"

"Water. Food."

Tempest needed them. Needed them badly, and Raul didn't have them to offer. Caution and necessity waged a brief war, coming to a compromise neither liked, and Raul made his decision. "Sure. Let's say I believe you, for now. Drop the bag."

The sniper reached for the strap of the bag with exaggerated slowness, and lowered it gently to the ground. _Suspiciously_ gently.

"Give it a kick for me, would you?" Raul requested. The sniper hesitated, body tight. "What's the problem, _Amigo_? Afraid you'll blow your own leg off?"

The sniper grunted a frustrated noise and kicked the bag. Raul's stomach dropped, but nothing happened other than the bag clinking like bottles and falling over. Raul took a deep breath. "You can go ahead and back up to the corner of the fence," he suggested. "Just keep the hands where I can see them. My eyes don't see so good anymore. Any surprises and I might shoot."

"Understood." The sniper said, like a good soldier. He walked slowly back along the fence, hands lowering, but not trying to go anywhere suspicious.

Raul took another deep breath, and stepped out of cover to go to the duffle bag. He kept his gun in his hand and an eye on the sniper as he took to a knee beside the bag. He didn't make any outward sound of pain. No need to let the sniper know that he wasn't getting up again fast.

The bag had just what the sniper said. A full dozen bottles of purified water, sunset sarsaparillas, and two gallon jugs of water labeled 'dirty' in marker—useful for washing. Real fresh apples, pears, and agave; gecko eggs, pinto beans, jalapeños, maize, and more buffalo gourds; and finally several big cuts of field-dressed meat wrapped in plastic sheeting. It looked like a bag put together by someone who was worried and gathering up all the supplies they could get their hands on in an afternoon. The kind of thing a real friend would do.

"What kind of meat?" Raul asked, as he levered himself slowly and painfully back to his feet. Fuck human knees, really. He could design a better mechanism in his sleep.

"Mole rat. For strength."

Mole rat stew was a dish wasteland mamas swore by to strengthen up the sickly, and it did seem to work. The sniper must have gone looking for mole rat specifically. Dog or gecko would have been easier to come across. Raul nodded, and holstered his pistol. Some of the tension left the sniper's stance. Not much, but some.

"Raul Tejada," he introduced himself. "Mechanic, gunslinger, and ghost of Mexico City."

"Boone," the sniper said. "First... formerly First Recon."

"I never would have guessed, from the gun and the beret." Raul leaned against a fence post, making himself look more relaxed than he was. He could put on the appearance of friendly when he wanted to. "Well, thanks for the supplies. I would have gathered some myself, but I was pinned down by a sniper all day."

"Yeah," Boone said, uncomfortably. He didn't seem to know any other way to talk than 'uncomfortably'. "Is..." He looked toward the shack, toward Tempest, and then clenched his jaw and didn't say any more.

He was quieter than Tempest, made it harder to spot, but Boone was yet another man with 'trouble' stamped all over him. Haunted, scared, trying to muscle through and not show anything. Caught somewhere between running away from and running _at_ his demons. Raul knew the type. Who was he trying to kid, he'd _been_ the type. Trust Tempest to pull yet more trouble into an inescapable vortex around him.

Raul took mercy on Boone's discomfort and the things he didn't think he could ask. "Tempest? He's miserable, but he'll be fine once the radaway runs its course. If you trust an old ghoul's word."

He expected Boone to insist on checking on Tempest himself. Boone just blinked, didn't quite shrug. "He trusts you."

Tempest's word was enough for him. Cut and dry. Simple. Must be the soldier in him. Useful, now, even if it made Raul's ruined skin crawl. He'd seen too many atrocities committed by people following orders.

"Like I'm going to throw him out when he shows up on his last leg. I owed him one."

"Yeah," Boone said, dry and distant. "...me too."

There was an understanding to that, both of them beholden to the same man, caught in his orbit. Tempest was trouble, but he knew how to pick loyal people to surround him. He was trouble _because_ of that.

Boone nodded to himself. "I'm going."

"Be my guest," Raul waved him off. "I don't want to see any more snipers skulking around."

"You won't."

For his peace of mind, Raul chose to interpret that as Boone not planning on watching his place rather than planning on finding better hiding spots. Boone didn't look back as he walked out into the desert night, lost quickly to Raul's sight in the dark.

Raul dragged the heavy duffle bag into his shack. His whole place stank of radaway sweat—not that he got to complain, being a ghoul. Tempest hadn't complained about his smell once. He took a sip from two of the purified waters—out of sight from Tempest, in case he saw and got weird about sharing with a ghoul—and they seemed fine. No poison he could taste. He left them both beside his mattress, where Tempest was still fitfully sleeping, so he could find them when he woke up.

There was a peace to that—knowing Tempest wasn't going to die of dehydration on his watch. It was a relief to have the supplies he needed. He'd seen too much of deprivation already in his uncommonly long life.

Raul shook his head at himself, and settled into his chair to try and steal a little rest. Any God still looking over the husk of the world knew he wasn't going to be getting much of that, with Tempest around. The man was trouble, clear through. Raul was an old man, old enough to know better. Old enough to know himself, and know he'd already let himself be pulled into the chaos, and wouldn't be getting out.

He never did learn better.


	5. Victor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only a fool would make a robot you can't fuck, and Mr. House is no fool.
> 
> Or: Victor is cute and my courier is incurably horny and yeah I have no excuse for this.

Tempest felt like his brain was on fire.

Walked straight through the Tops with Benny's gun smoking in his hand. Lay it on the front counter, gave his best million-watt smile to the shocked Chairmen, and left with the god-damned platinum chip that started the whole thing in his pocket.

Took it to the Lucky 38. Walked in where no one went. Talked to the man no one saw. Got put up in what would have been the fanciest digs he'd seen in the whole Mojave if he hadn't just seen the penthouse. And in between, talked to a spy of the Legion, took the mark of Caesar from him, and then hid in a shadow and blew the bastard's head off with none the wiser.

He felt like laughing, like shaking, like throwing up. It was over. He'd stood over Benny's body like Benny'd stood over his, and put a third and fourth bullet in him for good measure—and it was only just beginning. It was only just beginning. Caesar wanted him. Mr. House wanted him. He already knew the NCR wanted a part of him, and they'd only want it more now. It was all too much.

Tempest needed to get out of his head before he ended up curled on the floor. Sex would do it, if he could get it. A stiff drink and a friendly shoulder, that failing. Tempest knew he could find a Trooper looking for a good time easily enough, or if he went all the way out to Freeside some of the Kings were cute and he'd caught one or two making eyes at him, but it all seemed too far away. He didn't want to go even that far, but other than Victor and a few other bots he was alone in the entire casino.

Though... Tempest had heard of stranger things. Couldn't hurt to try.

He smiled up at the friendly Securitron, reaching out to run one finger down his... chest? The front of the main bulk of his body, anyway, beneath his screen.

"Well, looks like it's just you and me now, pardner." Tempest quirked an eyebrow. "All alone in my room. People are definitely gonna talk."

Victor's screen flickered, the picture changing to holding his hat over his face. "Aww, shucks. Don't go teasin'."

"I ain't," Tempest promised. "I just happen to find myself in powerful need of a distraction, and I like you, so if you're interested..?"

Victor shifted his hat back to the top of his head. There were a few lines on his cheeks that might be meant to represent a blush. "I... cain't say anyone's ever offered before." He fidgeted with his hands. "I _could_ borrow the relevant subroutines. If you really want to roll in the hay with Ol' Victor?"

Tempest took one of Victor's hands, gently fitting his fingers around Victor's three weathered metal claws. This was good, promising, something new the perfect distraction. "I'll try about anything once," he said. Smiled, coy and inviting. "What do you say we figure out how to make you feel good?"

Victor squeezed back on Tempest's hand, conspicuously gentle. "All right. Let me just ask Miss Jane—" His screen went to gray static for a second, and when he came back his blush was even darker. "Oh gosh," he said, and hid his face behind his hat again.

Tempest tended to like experienced men better than virgins, but there was something about a great big Securitron getting all shy on him that tickled his ego. He stepped in closer, leaning against Victor's torso and giving him a hug, though he wasn't sure how much Victor could feel. "It's all right," he soothed. "We can take it as slow as you like."

Victor wrapped his arms around Tempest, holding him tight. His body was hard metal, but warm with working machinery. He whirred and clicked on the inside—very different from what it sounded like to hug a human, but strangely comforting nonetheless. Victor's hands started to wander up and down Tempest's back. Tempest sighed, some of the burning restlessness leaving him. He knew this, even if it was different from with a man, he knew touch.

He moaned, arching against Victor's body, when one metal claw hand closed on his ass cheek and squeezed.

"You've got the idea, pardner," Tempest breathed. "Could I interest you in takin' this to the bedroom?" He looked around, not sure which of the doors in the suite led to the bed.

"Straight through," Victor pointed, and rolled along behind him when Tempest grabbed his hand and made for the indicated doorway.

The bedroom was spacious, and the bed a vast thing big enough to host a party. Tempest kicked his boots off, tossed his utility belt aside, and turned to walk backward toward the bed, keeping eye contact with Victor's camera and unbuttoning his shirt as he went. "I know how to do me, but how do we do you?" he asked, curious. Victor had a number of buttons on his torso and arms. Couldn't possibly be as simple as inputting the right sequence?

Victor was still blushing, but he helped pull Tempest's shirt off and hung it over the bed post. He brushed his closed hand against Tempest's cheek, heartmeltingly tender. "I haven't got the.. uh, _hardware_ for sex. But I could set up a neuroread, and piggyback off of your nervous system?"

Tempest blinked, trying to make sense of Victor's offer. "You'd feel what I feel? Is that safe?"

"Completely safe!" Victor promised. "Extensively tested, I'm told. Or Miss Jane kindly shared several techniques guaranteed to get you off, if that's what you'd rather?" His hands opened and closed in a nervous fidget, fingers clicking together.

"And miss out on the chance to show you a good time? I'd never!" Tempest chided. "Tell me what you need, handsome."

"You oughta sit down," Victor started, and Tempest obediently sat on the bed. It gave beneath him, soft, but didn't feel like it was broken and might sag to the floor. Victor curled an arm around Tempest's shoulder, right hand closing around the back of his neck and the base of his skull. "Just like this, pardner," Victor said. "I'm told you might feel some tingling."

Tempest turned his head to rub his cheek against Victor's arm, gazing up at him from under his lashes in a way human men tended to like. He had no idea what robots might like, but whatever he was doing had apparently been good enough for Victor so far.

Maybe it was a bad idea to trust one of Mr. House's Securitrons to read his brain. Maybe it was a mistake to rival carrying a platinum chip, but Tempest had done nothing but make dangerous decisions and take risks all day. If it was bad, he'd deal with it, and he _wanted_ to trust Victor. "Do it," he said.

Victor's hand tightened. There was a tickling up and down Tempest's back, a sound like a whole nest of cazadors buzzing in his ears and then... nothing. He was just sitting on the bed with Victor looming over him, cradling the back of his head.

Tempest felt completely normal, but Victor clearly didn't. His screen was flickering much more than usual, his eyebrows raised and mouth open on the picture that was his face. "Oh," he said, voice soft and breathless. "Oh, pardner."

Tempest reached out to touch, stroking just beside Victor's screen, wanting to make him feel more—but that was moving the wrong direction. Victor was feeling what he felt, so he had to touch himself to make Victor feel anything. It was like putting on a show, and Tempest knew how to do _that_.

Gently, though. Gently. Like the sweet boy who'd given Tempest his own debut. Remembering him, and those long secretive afternoons together, Tempest started on his face. He stroked his cheek, his eyebrow, traced softly around the edges of his lips.

Victor whimpered.

"Lots of nerve endings here." Tempest repeated the motion, a slow circle, and then dipping into his mouth to stroke the inside edge of his lips where they were even more sensitive. "Part of what makes kissing so fun." And cocksucking, too, but that was irrelevant to the current situation.

Victor touched Tempest's face with his free hand, and Tempest gave him the space to do so. He mirrored where Tempest had touched, with the metal of his fingers giving a completely different sensation.

"You feel _everything_ ," Victor marveled. He caught Tempest's bottom lip between two fingers, pinching it just to the point of pain before releasing. "So delicate."

"Tougher'n I look," Tempest protested automatically, though compared to the rugged metal construction of a Securitron he surely was. Victor's hand was still close to his face, and he kissed it, paying attention to the feel of it against his lips. He mouthed kisses up one of Victor's claw fingers and took the end of it into his mouth to tease it with his tongue. With a living man it would have been a teasing reminiscence of a blowjob, but with Victor he only enjoyed it because it felt good to Tempest. Pleasuring his partner by focusing on his own pleasure was an odd experience, a hard mindset to get into. It was an interesting challenge, at least. The perfect distraction.

"That's nice," Victor sighed. "But... there's more?"

"Sure is," Tempest agreed. Having a beginner feel curious and confident enough to ask for _more_ was always a good sign. That's what he liked. He brought his hand back up to his face, and dragged it slowly downward. Gently down his neck—there were nice nerve endings there, and he liked mouths on it, but the though of having Victor's hand on his throat didn't appeal, so he glossed over it. His clavicle and the tops of his pecs he stroked more lingeringly, just enjoying the simple animal pleasure of touch, before he made it down to his nipples. They were capricious, not always feeling good and sometimes not even like much at all, but luck was with him. When he lightly pinched one, warmth and arousal bloomed through his core.

Victor made a sound like a gasp, feeling it for the first time, while it was a familiar old feeling to Tempest. It must be part of the sex subroutines he'd borrowed that had Victor reacting with such human sounds. The face on his flickering screen looked surprised, eyes open wide.

"You like that, pardner?" Tempest asked, circling a single fingertip around one tight brown areola.

"Ooh." Victor reached toward the other nipple, and Tempest arched his spine to lift his chest toward him. Victor caught Tempest's nipple in the vice of his three metal fingers with conspicuous gentleness. Being touched by someone else always did more for Tempest than touching himself, and he shivered and moaned.

"It's a lot," Victor said.

"It can be," Tempest agreed, making sure to glance up and meet Victor's camera. That was the real eye contact, much as the face on the screen drew his attention. Sex could be a lot even for someone who was used to having the nerve endings. He could only imagine it was infinitely moreso for someone who never had. "You take all the time you want to explore. There's no rush, and I ain't complaining about the attention."

Victor chuckled breathlessly. "Charmer," he accused, and rotated his hand lightly back and forth, teasing his nipple, and Tempest gave up trying to think up a cute answer and just moaned. He adjusted himself on the bed to get comfortable, leaning a bit harder into the hand Victor still had clamped to the back of his head, and settled in for the long haul.

Victor's experimentation was charmingly methodical. He tested lighter and harder pressures, gentler and rougher treatment of Tempest's nipples, repeating always on the second exactly what he'd done to the first. Nipple play had never really been a destination, to Tempest. It was always a brief stop on the way to something else. Something about the relentlessness of Victor's attention was getting to him, though. That his body's sensations were what was giving Victor pleasure inspired him to allow it to continue when he would have gotten bored or wanted to move on. The more his chest was used the more sensitive it became, once he'd pushed past a plateau he'd never had cause to go beyond before.

The heat grew slowly through Tempest's core. His cock throbbed in his pants in time with every twist and tug on his nipples. His chest was on fire. It ached and it felt _so good_. Tempest squirmed in Victor's inescapable grip, panting like a bellows, sweat on his brow and under his arms. Victor's image on his screen was blushing hard, hat gone, hair tousled, a drip of sweat drawn on his temple. They both moaned with every touch.

"Mercy," Tempest gasped, when he really couldn't take it anymore. "Mercy. I can't. You've gotta let me stroke myself off, pardner, I'm fit to burst here."

"Do that. I'd like to feel," Victor urged, and then, pausing like he was shy. "Wrap your legs around my waist?"

"Sure thing." Tempest wasn't sure what Victor planned to do with that, but he was willing to give it a try. It took some rearranging, until Tempest was flat on his back with Victor leaning over him from beside the bed. Tempest wrapped his legs tight around the ridged section of Victor's body, below his broad 'chest'. "Like that?" he asked. Tempest surely didn't mind the feel of a man's body between his legs, and Victor was no exception.

"Like that," Victor confirmed. He went perfectly still for an instant as though concentrating hard, and then the low rumble of a motor started, and Victor's body began to vibrate.

"Ohoho, yes!" Tempest had had the happy opportunity to play with a working vibrator a time or two, when the partner of the hour had one to share. Maybe he should have expected that part of Victor's sex subroutines would include the function. Tempest hitched his hips up against Victor's waist a bit, getting the pressure where he wanted it, just behind his balls. It shook his whole body, rumbling through him and tickling him deep inside.

The sounds coming out of Tempest were something like thrilled laughter as he finally popped the button on his pants and grabbed his cock. His boxers were soaked with his precome, his cock as hard and red as sandstone. He tried to keep it slow and gentle, in deference to it being Victor's first time. He was so close, though, so close.

Victor sounded half-gone already. "Pardner!" he chanted, "Pardner, pardner, pardner!" Like there was no other word left in his databanks. When he pinched and pulled Tempest's nipple again, hard metal claw all the more intense for vibrating, it pushed Tempest right over the edge. His come spurted out across his flushed torso, a long broken wail complementing a garbled squeal of static from Victor.

The tight grip of the metal claw on the back of Tempest's head released, and Victor went still and dark and quiet for two terrifying seconds before he rebooted with a flicker of his screen and a whir of machinery. His image on the screen had his hat pushed far back on his head, and the heavy lines of a blush on his cheeks—Securitron version of flushed in the afterglow.

Tempest was just a sweaty mess of biological functions on the bed. He still thought he was probably getting the better end of the deal, being able to have sex with himself whenever he liked instead of having to rely on someone else's nerve endings to borrow.

Victor caressed Tempest's cheek as he straightened up, and Tempest kissed his hand before it was out of range.

"How was that, pardner?" Tempest asked. "I hope you liked it?" He looked around for his belt, wanting his cleanup bandanna, but Victor handed him a delicate paper tissue from a box beside the bed before he could really get started. Tempest used it, surprised at its strange texture. Not as soft as a well-worn bandanna or hankie, but very absorbent. It worked all right.

"That was..." Victor handed Tempest a second tissue to finish his cleanup. " _Illuminatin'_. Didn't know what to expect, but it weren't that." He rubbed his chest with one hand, briefly. "It was fun. Thanks for givin' an old bot a chance."

"My pleasure. Literally." Tempest laughed at himself, a bit punchy and tired. The exhaustion of his long hunt for Benny and all the convoluted fallout of that confrontation hitting him along with the post-orgasmic lethargy. He _could_ have pushed through it, if he had to, but he didn't have any reason to. He was as safe as he could be, here in the Lucky 38, and the bed was damn nice. He kicked his pants off and climbed under the blankets.

The pillows were _fluffy_. Tempest snuggled his face into one before smiling up at Victor. All his stress from earlier seemed so much less important now. Whatever came up, he could deal with it. Like any hard road he'd just take it one step at a time 'till he reached the end. After a nap.

"Thanks, Victor," he said. "I'm glad to call you friend."

"Likewise, pardner." Victor tipped his hat, in the image on his screen, and rolled on out of the bedroom to let Tempest rest.


	6. Arcade Gannon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Tempest pulled, he _pulled_.  
> A look, a hint, a sympathetic ear, and he stole away the Followers' unappreciated research scientist.

Arcade had heard about Courier Tempest, before he met the man. Word was he'd made a big splash on the strip, but he was often in Freeside as well. He'd sweet-talked the Kings into taking a kinder stance with the settlers, making the water pump a resource for the whole community again. He secured supply lines for the Followers, strengthened their alliances, and brought desperately needed supplies to the Old Mormon Fort whenever he had any to spare—which was surprisingly often.

It seemed he was half a prospector as well as a courier. The Followers were always stretched thin, but with Tempest's support things were just a little easier for them.

Arcade had managed to be busy and miss him the first half dozen times Tempest visited. It was only chance that he happened to be leaving his tent to take a breather between fruitless experiments when Tempest was arriving.

Beatrix's hoarse shout of "Hey, hey! Look what the wind blew in!" alerted him first. She didn't sound upset, and the few other exclamations from the gate seemed happy, so Arcade was only curious and not worried when he made his way into the courtyard to see who it was.

A dusty little cowboy was swing-dancing with Beatrix. She dipped him low, which he embellished by sweeping his hat from his head and shouting 'Olé'. Somehow, he managed to make sweaty hat hair look dashing. They were both laughing as they broke apart. He had a very big smile, with surprisingly good teeth gleaming against the sunkissed light brown of his face. The cowboy called out greetings to a few other people before making it to Julie Farkas, who'd come out into the courtyard to meet him.

"Tempest," she said warmly, confirming Arcade's suspicion. Who but the infamous Courier was this well loved?

"Julie!" Tempest greeted expansively, leaning in to give her a chaste half-hug and a kiss to the air beside her cheek. "I got you a batch of supplies."

"Thank you. We'll take whatever you can spare."

"I just wish I could do more," Tempest said, gesturing backward without looking, and his companion handed him a pack. Arcade hadn't even registered the friend before—attention taken by Tempest's flash. That was probably intentional. The man behind Tempest wore an NCR First Recon beret, and was ruggedly handsome, even if the effect was spoiled by his flinty eyes and hard expression. A body guard, then, and probably a good one. A smart thing for a wanderer to have.

Tempest hunkered down to dig into his pack, and Arcade's attention drifted back to him. It... seemed to be true, what they said about Couriers. The man had an ass like fine art. The famously gay sculptor Michelangelo from the ancient world might have taken him as a muse.

"Med-x." Tempest handed neat bundles of supplies across to Julie. "Fixer. Rad-x. Radaway. Stimpacks. Only two super stimpacks, but they're yours; I can't stand the things. A batch of my own homemade healing powder. And I've been gatherin' supplies, like you suggested. I managed to put together three whole doctor's bags. They still have to be sterilized, mind you, but with the alcohol y'all are getting from the Atomic Wrangler?"

"It won't be a problem," Julie promised. "Where did you get all of this?" It was a windfall, and no mistake. That was a lot of caps' worth of supplies Tempest was handing over, and it would make all the difference in the world.

"Fiends." Tempest closed his pack up and stood, crossing one leg over the pack to protect it like someone who was well used to traveling with one in places where someone might try and snatch it. "Finally got to Motor Runner. That's the last of the four bosses. The rest of 'em oughta scatter, now. That'll make Outer Vegas a bit safer."

Julie blinked, mouth working slightly in surprise. "You caught him out of the vault?"

Tempest laughed, eyes sparkling. "Not so much. What's that old saying? 'If the Mountain won't come to Mohammad?' We had to go to him." Tempest indicated the bodyguard with a thumb over his shoulder. "Boone spotted a raiding party headed toward McCarran. So we sniped 'em off. Looted the bodies for chems. Used the chems to convince the door guard we were there to sell. They let us right in." Tempest's sparkle turned sharp, for just an instant—the glitter of bullets and gun barrels and charging plasma weapons—deadly. "Last mistake they had the chance to make."

The moment passed as quickly as it had come. Tempest concealed the hard edge and was the happy, friendly man the Followers owed so much to. He wondered aloud with Julie whether the Khan's chem cookers might be more willing to turn their genius toward making medical supplies with their main contact among the Fiends now gone, and promised he'd go lean on them next time he was up their way. He checked in with a few people he'd sent to the Followers for help, making sure they were all right, and then his eyes landed on Arcade, who was still standing around watching him.

Arcade had been warned. You couldn't help hearing what people said of Tempest. The man could sell sand in the Mojave, they said. The kind of sweet talker who'd sell you the moon and you wouldn't even mind. Tempest was the kind of man who could be very dangerous... but also, as observed, the kind of man who _gave_ far more than he took. He made people love him everywhere he went, but he did that by legitimately helping. The only thing Tempest had ever asked the Followers for was information, and that was what they were happiest to give.

Arcade had been warned, but he still wasn't prepared for the full weight of Tempest's regard. Tempest knocked the brim of his black cowboy hat back to get a better look at Arcade, and pulled his glasses off to clean them as he gave Arcade a good up-and-down that couldn't be anything but deliberate. Not with the way he gazed up at Arcade under his lashes on the tail end of it. The effect was downright deadly, with his striking gold eyes framed with thick dark lashes and cheekbones to die for, and he must know that. The rough scar above his eye didn't detract from his beauty in the slightest.

"Howdy there, pardner," Tempest greeted, putting his glasses back on. He thrust his hand out to Arcade. "I'm Tempest. I know I'd remember if I'd met a handsome devil like you."

"Arcade Gannon." Arcade gave his hand to Tempest, and Tempest grasped it in a firm shake. "I've heard good things about you, but we haven't had the pleasure."

Tempest laughed, bright and happy. "If you've heard about me, then you already know what my next question's gonna be. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Just like that. No posturing, no angling for caps, just Tempest extending his boundless generosity to him. Arcade almost wished the problems he was working on _could_ be solved by the judicious application of bullets, a silver tongue, or a stock of supplies—things Tempest could have helped him with. He didn't mean to, he didn't often talk to people, but he found himself explaining his work and his frustrations to Tempest. Tempest made all the right sounds at the right places, and while it was clear he had little formal education, he was sharp. He obviously understood what Arcade was talking about.

He was far too easy to talk to. Not that Arcade forgot himself. He deflected awkwardly when Tempest veered into personal territory. It did give him a good opening for the 'why hasn't some lucky man snapped him up' lament, in what was probably a ridiculously transparent attempt to let Tempest know that he was gay. Tempest hadn't reacted at all to the 'gladiator movie holotapes' hint, but that one was admittedly a bit obscure. Tempest sparkled up at him, and easily steered the conversation back to the comfortable topics of Arcade's research and the Followers.

"I've been taking the short view, with Julie, bringing in the supplies needed at the moment," Tempest said, earnestly. They'd moved into the shade of Arcade's research tent to escape the evening sun as they talked. He fanned himself slowly with his hat. "You're right, though. The old world's medical supplies won't last forever. There's got to be an alternative, somethin' stronger than healing powder. Why don't you come wandering with me for a spell?"

Arcade wanted to say yes, was the thing. Half an hour talking to Tempest, and Arcade was ready to walk into the sunset with him. The man was dangerously charming. Arcade told himself that wouldn't be true if he hadn't already heard of the good Tempest had done for Freeside and the Followers. "Why should I go with you?" he asked, convinced despite himself, but still wanting to hear Tempest's reasons.

Tempest smiled, like Arcade had given him exactly the opening he was hoping for. He leaned closer, clasping his hat to his heart. "Maybe I need a good-lookin' doctor to take care of me in the big, bad wasteland."

It was corny as hell. It shouldn't have worked as a line, and it was downright silly coming from the man who'd just taken down the Fiends in their own vault, but Arcade couldn't help his answering smile and the blossoming warmth in his chest at the confirmation that he'd read Tempest's interest right. He wasn't just being friendly. They were playing the same game, on the same team.

"Overt flirtation will get you everywhere, you know," Arcade said warmly, body mirroring Tempest's. "On a slightly more serious note, if you're still interested in helping out with the troubles plaguing Freeside, I'll come with you."

"You know I am." Tempest gestured with his hat. "But what I was thinkin', when I offered, is that I come across things I don't understand all the time. Old tech, old research, or new people with new ways of thinking. I might have found your answer already without realizing. A smart man like you could get damn sight more outta some of my findings than I can, that's for sure. If nothing else, a change of pace might help get your research unstuck."

Arcade hadn't thought that Tempest's skills would be any use to him in his research. Guns, scavenging, and a silver tongue sounded downright essential once Arcade understood what he was being offered. New lines of research, old world knowledge and new world know how, were open to him with Tempest at his side.

"That could be exactly what I... what the Followers need," Arcade said. "Just don't do anything obnoxious like help Caesar's Legion, and we should be fine. Understood?"

Tempest's gleam turned hard again, flash of steel like a switchblade, disappeared just as fast. "The only thing I help Legionaries do is _die_ , pardner." Tempest plopped his hat on his head and turned away from Arcade, to the bodyguard Arcade had quite honestly forgotten all about, he was so quiet. Tempest fished a big string of caps out of a pouch on his belt and handed them carelessly over to Boone. "Take the crew out for me, would you? I appreciate it."

Boone took the caps with a hoarse 'yeah', and strode out of the fort without a look back. Tempest sized Arcade up thoughtfully, then hunkered down to get into his pack. "Let me get you some energy cells for your gun. I have a few, I usually sell 'em. And I think I've got... aha!" Tempest rose again with a box of energy cells, which he handed over, and a rawhide cowboy hat, which he held up with a critical eye before nodding to himself and setting on Arcade's head. It actually seemed to fit him, and Tempest looked pleased. He brushed his fingers affectionately across Arcade's cheek. "It suits you. I'd hate to see that pretty face burn."

It could have felt patronizing. Arcade thought maybe it _should_ feel patronizing and unpleasant, but Tempest seemed so earnest about it, and who didn't want to be taken care of a little now and then? And Arcade's fair skin did have a terribly tendency to burn. A hat would help, if he was going to be walking the wastes. It was kind of Tempest to think of it.

"Would you like to head somewhere private to plan? My place ain't far," Tempest offered, shouldering his pack and checking his rifle over his shoulder. A quirk of his eyebrow might be meant to suggest that this 'planning' would involve few clothes and maybe a bed.

"Lay on, MacDuff!" Arcade said. It was too much to hope that Tempest would know how to finish the quote, or even that it was one. Predictably, Tempest only laughed and spun away to lead him out into Freeside.

At least there were definitely worse views than the backside of Courier Tempest to follow.

* * *

When Tempest pulled, he _pulled_.

A look, a hint, a sympathetic ear, and he stole away the Followers' unappreciated research scientist. Easy as pie. Arcade was tall and handsome, with a softness about his mouth that Tempest wanted to taste. The hungry way Arcade looked at him, and the way he responded to flirting, made him sure he'd have the chance.

They made it through Freeside without major incident. The single junkie who tried to hold them up changed his mind right fast when faced with Tempest's rifle, Arcade's plasma defender, and the pistols of two Kings who were nearby. His little switchblade was no match for all that, and he backed away with his hands up.

They made it through the gate easy. Tempest just slung his arm around Arcade's waist and told Securitron X12, who was in charge, "This one's with me." No credit check required, Tempest's good word was enough these days. Arcade would be able to come and go as he pleased.

"The Strip's not a bad place, if you love terrible things and people," Arcade said, brightly sarcastic.

Tempest laughed, spinning around to gesture to the whole place. "It _is_ awful underneath the glam, ain't it?" He all but danced up the lit-up steps to Mr. House's gaudy dick-compensation of a tower. "Lucky you, only me and my friends get to stay in the 38. C'mon."

Arcade followed, bemused. Tempest ushered him through the eerily empty casino floor, and asked Victor to see them to the presidential suite. Arcade stood much closer to Tempest than he had to, even given the close quarters. Tempest smiled up at him and leaned in, Arcade touched his cheek, and then they were kissing.

Arcade's mouth was every bit as nice as Tempest had suspected. He kissed sweet and open, and grabbed hold of Tempest's ass with one strong hand. Tempest moaned and ran his hands up Arcade's chest, kissing back for all he was worth. Their hats, brims clashing, knocked each other off their heads. Tempest reached back fast and grabbed his before it hit the floor. Arcade didn't even try, too busy cradling the nape of Tempest's neck as he pushed his tongue into his mouth. Tempest surely didn't mind.

It was almost a disappointment when the elevator door opened and Victor helpfully called out "High Roller Suite!"

"Thank you kindly," Tempest told the Securitron a touch breathlessly, as he reluctantly disentangled himself from Arcade, whose mouth was red and cheeks pink. Tempest wanted to _devour_ him. He gave his very best rakish smile as he backed into the second best set of rooms in the entire Strip. They were brighter and less dusty for being lived in now. "Now, I could treat you to the finest of my campfire cookin' while we make travel plans... _or_ you could join me on the nicest bed in New Vegas for a spell first." He beckoned Arcade forward with all his fingers as he backed through the doorway into the master bedroom, just to make it absolutely clear where his preferences lie.

Arcade laughed, and followed Tempest. "You know, you make a very convincing argument." Behind him, Tempest briefly saw Victor picking Arcade's hat up to put it on an end table, before Arcade kicked the door shut and was on him again.

They stumbled across the room together, tugging at each other's clothes and getting in each other's way as much as getting undressed. Tempest managed to hang his hat on the bedpost, and with two hands was finally able to get Arcade's lab coat off him. His tshirt was very thin and worn underneath it, the heat of his body and the softness of his skin easily felt through it.

Then Arcade toppled Tempest over onto the bed and crawled up on him to pin him to it. He kissed Tempest on the mouth, tongue delving in deep, breathed a hot exhale against Tempest's ear, then nuzzled lower and bit his neck—sharp and sweet.

Tempest arched up against Arcade's body, crying out with a high whimper. "That's the ticket, pardner!"

Arcade huffed, almost a laugh against the corner of Tempest's jaw. "Call me by my name? I'm not above having my ego stroked."

Tempest always was eager to please. "Arcade," he moaned, soft and breathless. Arcade made a delicious little growling sound at that. Tempest couldn't be blamed for tugging him up and kissing it from his mouth. The kiss got involved very quickly—a deep and dirty analogue to fucking that got Tempest the rest of the way to hard very quickly. He was panting when they broke apart. "You know, your ego weren't the only thing I was hoping to stroke tonight, if we could get the clothes out of the way."

Arcade did laugh at that, and Tempest leaned up to kiss him again, which slightly delayed Arcade climbing off him to resume undressing. Tempest licked his lips when Arcade tossed his shirt aside. He was even paler beneath, with a little golden hair at the center of his chest. He wasn't very muscular, but well built. His skin was very soft and smooth, but he twitched away a bit from Tempest's hand on his side, and Tempest didn't want to ruin the moment by tickling him.

Tempest discarded his own shirt and worked on his belt buckle with one hand while he went delving in his condom pouch with the other. "I'm runnin' low on lube at the moment, which limits our options, but—" He flashed a condom hopefully between his fingers, hungrily eyeing the substantial bulge in Arcade's pants. "I do happen to be a champion cocksucker."

"And here I was going to offer the same thing."

Their eyes met for just an instant, calculating. Arcade slowly ran his tongue along his teeth, quirking an eyebrow in invitation. Tempest's cock twitched, a deeper want settling in his gut. He reached back into his condom pouch. "Could I interest you in a sixty-nine then? I've even got a... There it is!" He triumphantly showed Arcade the one and only red jimmy hat he'd managed to find since losing his whole stash. He'd been hoping for just such an occasion to use it. "If you prefer flavored."

Tempest didn't particularly find that the weird candy flavor was any more pleasant than plain rubber, but Arcade's expression warmed. "What a gentleman. I'll take it."

Tempest tossed both condoms on the bed between them and got out of his pants. Arcade did the same, a little slower. Tempest gasped when he finally got a look at Arcade's cock. It was long to suit Arcade's height, which he'd expected, but it was _naked_. There was a faint scar all the way around it, where his foreskin had been surgically removed.

"Oh!" Tempest reached for Arcade's cock, stopping just shy of it and glancing up for Arcade's nod before completing the gesture and taking it in hand. His cock looked just like the ones in pre-war dirty mags. "I've heard of this. Can't say I've ever seen a cock with this particular modification in the flesh before, though. Did you get it done for religion or pleasure?"

"Uh, neither. It was more of a family tradition, an old world affectation they clung to." Arcade looked uncomfortable. "It's really not much different from an intact dick, it just means I have to use more lube when I'm masturbating."

"I can see that." Tempest stroked Arcade's cock lightly. There was less glide, the skin pulled tight to his hardness. It was a pretty display, no question, but it seemed inconvenient. Lubrication would definitely help. Good thing spit worked just fine for oral sex. Tempest released Arcade's cock to unwrap the plain condom, popped it between his lips, and relished Arcade's gasp when he bent down to put it on him with his mouth. Once it had a condom on, it wasn't all that different from any other cock. Tempest swirled his tongue around the head, before bobbing his head to take it as deep as he could with the awkward angle. Arcade smelled good, like the horsenettle soap the Followers all seemed to use and faintly of sweat.

Arcade moaned. One hand closed on the back of Tempest's head, encouraging. He kept talking. "But speaking of lube, one of the few successes of my research is one based on barrel cactus. I could... ooooh yeah... I could show you how to make it."

Tempest laughed, releasing Arcade's cock. "Is _that_ what the Followers had you researching?" He groped around for the second condom and helpfully applied it to himself.

Arcade pulled him close and kissed him. "There are plenty of medical uses for a body safe lubricant." He grabbed Tempest's cock, a firm hand and a slow stroke that had Tempest whimpering. "But I will admit to having been _particularly_ motivated to perfect it." He lay across the big bed, drawing Tempest down on top of him. "If you want that sixty-nine, you can be on top. Just don't try and shove it down my throat, ok?"

"Sure thing, pard—Arcade," Tempest promised. There was really no graceful way to straddle a man's face. Tempest did his best, kissing Arcade's mouth, his throat, his upper chest, before putting his knees to either side of Arcade's head and lying on his belly to return attention to his cock. Arcade's cock was slightly bigger than Tempest generally liked, definitely one that needed careful handling to be enjoyed. He was glad to be on top, with a good grip on the base of Arcade's cock to stroke as he sucked.

Arcade wasn't shy about moving Tempest around where he wanted him. He tugged Tempest's hips back, nudged his legs apart a bit, stroked his back and thighs, and took a firm double-handful of ass to knead as he finally took Tempest's cock into his mouth.

It was warm, wet, tight, _perfect_. He could feel Arcade's tongue caressing him, the strain of Arcade's neck, head lifting to take more of him, the warm huff of breath against his balls.

Tempest moaned around the cock in his mouth, sinking into the mirrored sensations. Soft mouth on his hard cock, and keeping his mouth soft on the hard cock in his own mouth. The strain in his legs from holding his hips still blended into the strain in his shoulders from holding himself up and the faint ache in his jaw from holding it open. The pleasure of being given head blended into the pleasure of giving head.

When he got into the rhythm, Tempest to tilted his head just so, got the perfect angle, relaxed the back of his mouth completely, and let the thick head of Arcade's cock push through the tight squeeze into his throat. Arcade's hands clenched convulsively on Tempest's ass as he gasped a strangled sound around Tempest's cock, and Tempest _liked_ that. He wanted more of that. He did it again, and again. Pull back, breathe, push forward and take Arcade into his throat. His fist, stroking firmly at the base of Arcade's cock, was sloppy and wet with his spit.

Arcade's cock tensed, thickening in his mouth, and Tempest whined through his nose as worked a little harder and faster to coax him over the edge. Arcade's cock pulsed, semen gushing out to fill the end of the condom. His body, politely still beneath Tempest until then, bucked in orgasm. Arcade made a choking sound as an involuntary motion pushed Tempest's cock deeper into his mouth, and Tempest quickly lifted himself off and away from Arcade's head to let him breathe.

He held on to Arcade's cock with his hand as his orgasm faded. Letting Arcade fuck up into his fist as much as he wanted, but not risking pushing him into overstimulation by stroking it himself. Tempest grinned up at Arcade as his orgasm subsided into trembles. His pale body was flushed and sweaty, and he lay gasping on the bed. It was a good look on him. Tempest released Arcade's cock and grabbed his own, fully intending to finish himself off to the sight.

Arcade had another idea. "Hey," he said, grabbing Tempest's hand away, and then sat up and shoved Tempest onto his back with surprising strength considering how close after orgasm he was. "Let me," he purred, and dropped his head into Tempest's lap, one hand on his chest to hold him down. Arcade sucked his cock down until his nose was buried in Tempests pubes.

"Oh, pardner! Ar _cade_!" Tempest gasped, voice raw and cracked from deep-throating. He grabbed on to Arcade's head, fingers tight in his thick blond curls, and Arcade moaned around his cock. Tempest couldn't last long against that. His own orgasm shook through him, hot and sweet and satiating.

Arcade sighed in satisfaction and kissed his way up Tempest's chest to reach his mouth, bright blue eyes shining up at him the whole way. His lips were soft and so red, and Tempest cupped his face in both hands as he kissed him, feeling the angular corner of his jaw and his ever-so-faint stubble. The fake-candy flavor in his mouth had never been so enticing.

"Beautiful," Tempest breathed.

"Look who's talking." Arcade pet Tempest's side, shaking his head slightly. "But, mutual attractiveness aside, the two of us definitely need to clean up now. Do you have a cloth handy or...?"

"I do," Tempest promised. His cleanup bandanna wasn't far away, on his belt which was on his pants which ought to be beside the bed where he'd dropped them. "But, if I could beg your consideration, we're in the Lucky 38. We have runnin' hot and cold water. Could I interest you in a shower?" He stroked a hand up Arcade's back, let his voice drop a little deeper in invitation. "With or without company." Tempest had been hoping to get to share a shower with someone as soon as he'd figured out how they worked. Being slippery and wet in close quarters with Arcade sounded more than nice.

There was a bit of a line between Arcade's brows, his mouth tightening with displeasure. "While Outer Vegas dries up in the dust."

"I know. I hate it too," Tempest shook his head. "But denying ourselves a little pleasure for however long it takes Mr. House to get tired of puttin' me up won't help a damn soul. We can have showers now and help Freeside in a bit."

Arcade sighed, but his expression softened again. "I don't suppose it'll make much of a difference if we fiddle a little longer while Rome burns." He kissed Tempest, a gentle brush of lips that Tempest caught with his to prolong. "I'll take the company."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this fic, let me know! It's been a pretty lonely one to post so far, and knowing anyone's enjoying it would mean a lot to me.


	7. Interlude 2 - Arcade meets the crew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned that Tempest can be a bit obliviously self-centered?

Arcade spent the night in Tempest's bed.

They had great sex. They showered together, slippery and steamy, and Tempest touched him with a gentleness akin to reverence as they helped soap each other. They made plans of where to travel for Arcade's research—Tempest had been near everywhere, and had a lot of good ideas.

Tempest cooked for him as they planned. It was simple wasteland cooking adapted to a little hot plate, and Arcade would have loved it simply for being something different than the old staples at the Followers mess even if it _hadn't_ been delicious.

Tempest sat on the edge of the big dining room table, smiling down at Arcade as he spoon-fed him a taste now and then to ask his opinion of seasonings. Tempest had forgone his glasses after his shower, and the focused intensity of his gray-gold eyes on Arcade's face was almost overwhelming. It was obviously to make up for poor vision, but Arcade couldn't help how important it made him feel. He had the complete attention of a handsome, charismatic man.

A man could get used to that.

They talked and laughed over dinner and travel plans, and when they started each other yawning, Tempest offered him a choice of beds. One of his own, or sharing the master bed with him.

"I ain't so fond of being alone, anymore." Tempest said softly, touching the line of the scar on his temple, when Arcade double-checked that he didn't mind sharing.

They kissed good night, sweet and slow. They kissed good morning, deep and dirty, and Arcade climbed on top of Tempest and fucked between his impressively muscled thighs with the last of the lube to ease the way, and whispered to him about Greek love—the sexy, non-pedophilic bits of it, anyway. Tempest moaned and shuddered beneath him, and gasped his name, and held him close. When they were both done and getting dressed for the day, Tempest looked at him like he was a million caps, and softly touched his cheek, and offered to make breakfast.

What kind of a man _wouldn't_ be just a tiny bit in love, after all that?

Tempest left the master bedroom, leaving the door open, and Arcade realized quite suddenly that they were not alone in the suite.

"Hey boss, you're finally up! I got that gun repaired for you."

" _¡_ _Paciencia!_ _¡_ _Mi amor!_ " Tempest crooned. Arcade was almost jealous, until he curiously came through to door to see that Tempest was talking to a weathered bolt-action rifle and cuddling it like it was his long lost best friend. A ghoul in a mechanic's jumpsuit, standing beside him, looked quietly proud. The sniper, Boone, was leaning against the wall on the other end of the hallway.

That's right. Tempest had told Boone to take 'the crew' out. Apparently they'd come back overnight. If Tempest wasn't worried about them seeing Arcade leave his room, then Arcade figured it was fine. Tempest seemed to be a good judge of character.

Arcade had only just decided that he had nothing to worry about and nothing to be jealous over, when Tempest slung the rifle over his shoulder, like he was used to carrying it there, and turned toward the ghoul.

"Thank you kindly, pardner," Tempest said, warmly, and kissed him. There was no mistaking the kiss for anything platonic, not with the way Tempest fit his body against the ghouls, the tender way he cupped the ghoul's face, and the fact that tongues were most definitely involved.

It was not a very long kiss. Tempest left the ghoul with an affectionate pat to his arm and a fond smile. "Raul, meet Arcade, a Followers scientist! Arcade this is Raul; there's nothing broke he can't fix. And you've met Boone." Tempest gestured between them all, and left toward the kitchen. "I'm makin' breakfast! Who's eating?"

"It's just us," Raul said. "Cass drank the bar dry, and I'm too old to go carrying anybody home."

"Veronica stayed too," Boone added.

"You know, boss, if you ask me, she was less interested in watching out for Cass and more in flirting with Ms Weintraub."

Tempest laughed. "Y'all went to the 21? How's Sarah? And where the _hell_ did I stash the deathclaw eggs?"

It was all entirely domestic, the feel of established household Arcade suddenly found himself in the middle of. Boone silently pulled a box of deathclaw eggs out of a cabinet, and Tempest smiled up at him and gave him an affectionate hip-check before taking them away. He was a man who liked to touch people. Arcade had known that much coming in. It was only that considering the night and the morning they'd shared, Arcade had not expected to find himself in the position of the 'other woman' as it were.

"So..." Arcade said, when Tempest left the kitchen again in search of something from his pack to add to the spicy deathclaw omelet he was constructing. "Do you collect all your conquests into the Lucky 38, or are we just lucky?"

Tempest laughed, eyes shining as he dance-stepped around Arcade, just out of reach. "Ha! Wouldn't that be somethin'? They'd take up the whole building!"

Arcade suddenly felt very glad that Tempest had been so very conscientious about protection.

"He's not all that good," Raul said, grinning with old yellowed teeth. "He's only picked up, what, two of the three men here?" He tisked, as though disappointed.

"Raul, haven't you heard? Bad things happen to men who underestimate me!" Tempest defended. "Three of Four."

Boone stiffened, spine going ramrod straight. "I... didn't..."

"Weren't talkin' about you!" Tempest sing-songed, then winked and made a finger gun at... the cowboy Securitron, the one he'd called 'Victor'. The Securitron's screen image briefly changed to a heart, with a bullet hole appearing through it with a little 'pew' sound effect.

At least Arcade wasn't the only one surprised by the news. He hadn't realized that Securitrons were capable of having sex. How would that even _work_?

Tempest didn't seem to notice the general consternation, heading to the kitchen with the bottle of oil he'd grabbed from his pack. "Four of Five, if I count myself goin' solo, which I've been known to do. That ain't the worst gambling odds." The pan sizzled, diced hot peppers and tatos frying up to make a hearty omelet. It smelled very good.

"So tell me," Arcade said, conversationally. "In gathering together a handful of your partners, did you stop to wonder if any of them might get jealous?"

Tempest scoffed, gesturing lazily with the spatula. "I'm a courier," he said, like that excused everything.

There was more to the reputation than just the great ass, that much was true. But still. "And you never considered that having a different lover in every settlement is significantly _different_ from putting three in the same room without warning?"

Tempest laughed. "C'mon, everyone knows..." He turned away from his cooking to look at Arcade, and stopped laughing, eyes going wide. The blood drained from his face. His hand clenched tight on the spatula, and he bumped into the counter as if he'd been trying to take a step back. "I... but.... Everyone knows what couriers are like!"

That was probably what he'd told himself, time and again, until he forgot it wasn't a universal free pass. It was a foundation to his worldview, and having it so suddenly challenged was clearly a shock. This was the legendarily sweet talking Tempest tongue tied. This was the fearless Tempest afraid. It was a bit of a comfort that he was, in fact, capable of being those things.

"Ok, enough joking doc," Raul interrupted the tense moment. "You'll give the boss a heart attack. Isn't torturing people against the Hippocratic Oath or something?"

Raul might be using a friendly tone of voice, but there was a sharpness to his expression, and his right hand was posed above his pistol like a gunslinger. A pre-war ghoul—and if he knew about the Hippocratic Oath, he'd have to be one—had to be deadly to have survived so long. Beyond him, Boone had one hand on his gun, staring Arcade down with deadly focus in his icechip-cold eyes. Even Victor had moved slightly from his place beside the elevator doors. The face on his screen was no longer smiling.

Tempest might not have entirely thought the situation through, but he knew how to pick people to trust. There wasn't a person in the suite who wouldn't fight for him. Arcade included. He'd been unpleasantly surprised, hurt a little, but he was not angry.

It had been _nice_ to feel like the only man in the world to Tempest, for a night, but Arcade wasn't heartbroken, and he wasn't losing his mind with jealousy either. They weren't in love. They'd only just met.

Arcade laughed, and if it came out a little strained, he could only hope they'd all forgive him for that. "Oh, don't worry; no wedding bells were implied or desired when I agreed to join you." He pulled out one of the dining table chairs and sat on it, rubbing his face with both hands. "It's just that little warning before meeting any, uh, _metamours?_ would have been appreciated. I told you I'm not much of a people person."

Tempest exhaled gustily, deflating, and the tension in the room eased. He set his spatula aside and came to kneel between Arcade's legs. "I'm sorry, pardner. Arcade," he apologized, gazing beseechingly up at him with one hand resting on his knee. It was almost funny how that still worked, how special it made him feel, even if having just witnessed that Tempest was like this with everyone. "I oughtn't to have sprung that on you. It was poorly done."

"All I ask is that you keep it in mind," Arcade said. "Communication. Amazing the kind of things it solves when properly employed."

Tempest nodded earnestly.

"This is all very sweet," Raul interrupted, moving past them in an arthritic shuffle toward the cooking station to take up Tempest's discarded spatula. "But I don't want to eat burnt jalapeños."

"Hey." Tempest left Arcade with a firm squeeze to his shoulder and rushed back to wrestle the spatula away from Raul. " _I'm_ makin' breakfast! Grind the mesquite for coffee if you're so damned impatient."

It was all very domestic. Tempest and Raul teased and argued as they cooked, and Boone unobtrusively helped out around them. They obviously knew how to work around each other very well.

The deathclaw omelet was rich and spicy, when Tempest cut it into fat fluffy quarters to serve it. The coffee was dark and hearty and very different from the watery stuff they served in the Followers' mess. Raul and Tempest kept a steady stream of banter going, and they appreciated when Arcade had a piece of whit to add, or the rare times Boone threw a word in.

So maybe the morning had turned out _very_ differently from the way Arcade had pictured it going, but it wasn't so bad, overall. It wasn't bad.

He could get used to occasional mornings surrounded by Tempest's impromptu family.


	8. Jerry the Punk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up Jerry the Punk wasn't hard at all.
> 
> The problem only appeared _after_ Jerry closed the tent flap behind them, giving them privacy, when he pounced on Tempest with clear intent to grapple him to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Approach this chapter with care!** It is not a very nice one. We have themes of internalized macho bullshit, internalized homophobia, casual misogynist language, mentions of adolescent sexuality, attempted assault, and death threats.
> 
> I think that about covers it? But please tell me if there are any more warnings this chapter should have? I've read this chapter over so many times I can't really see it anymore.
> 
> Please be gentle with yourselves.  
> <3  
> TS

Jerry the Punk practically seduced himself.

Tempest was in Red Rock Canyon dealing with some very delicate negotiations with Jack and Diane on behalf of the Followers. With Motor Runner gone, the Great Khans had lost their biggest chem buyer. The profit margins were slimmer, but selling medicines would be a more reliable source of income, and one less likely to make enemies for the Khans. Diane was sharp. She could see that, as clear as Tempest laid it out. And Jack was more than skilled enough to manufacture them.

Tempest played on their pride, riding the line between flattering them that no one else had their skill, and suggesting they didn't have what it took to make high-quality medical supplies as opposed to crude chems, and the cocktail proved irresistible. He got the contract the Followers needed, and the Khans were smug at having won it off him.

Walking through Red Rock Canyon, the holes in the Great Khans were obvious. Almost no elders. Almost no children in a specific age range. Their people had taken a terrible blow from the NCR, that much was clear.

There was a reason Tempest hadn't brought any companion other than the King's buddy Rex with him. The Khans were suspicious enough of him, without bringing another person into it. The tension had eased, a bit, as they got to know Tempest. He did what he always did, helping in any way he could that didn't contradict his morals.

What little Jerry wanted the most in the world was a friendly ear, and Tempest was good at that. He let him vent and made a few appropriately sympathetic sounds, listened to his charmingly amateur poetry, and Jerry was putty in his hands.

"You really liked it? Wow, you're the first one who ever did!" Jerry looked at Tempest like he was something rare and wonderful.

"Ain't that a damn shame," Tempest said, softly, so Jerry had the excuse to move closer to him—which he did. When Tempest reached up, Jerry flinched away but then quickly reversed and leaned into his hand. He was shaking, slightly, eyes wide like he couldn't believe he was being touched gently. "Somebody oughta treat you right," Tempest murmured, brushing Jerry's hair back from his face and smiling at him with just his eyes. He surely wouldn't mind being the man to do it.

"I... uh... my ger is, um, right over." Jerry gestured hopefully toward it, blushing. "If you wanted to... you know?"

"I think I would," Tempest answered warmly.

No, picking up Jerry the Punk wasn't hard at all.

The problem only appeared _after_ Jerry closed the tent flap behind them, giving them privacy, when he pounced on Tempest with clear intent to grapple him to the ground. Tempest was caught completely off guard by the sudden turnaround, and pushed back with a quick 'hey!"

Jerry made a snarling sound, knocking Tempest's hat from his head as he grabbed a vicious handful of hair. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard you can't walk, you little—"

Tempest had no illusions about his ability to defeat a Khan in hand to hand combat, not even a failed one like Jerry, but he was getting better at that takedown Ranger Andy drilled him on whenever he was passing through Novac. He caught Jerry by surprise and managed to knock him onto his ass. He took a quick step back, giving himself a little distance.

"Stop," Tempest ordered, sharp and loud. He had a hand on his pistol, but didn't quite draw it. Not yet. It was just a little .22, but a headshot was a headshot, and Tempest never missed. There weren't many men like him, who kept walking after. "That ain't how this is gonna happen."

Jerry rolled back up to his feet, red-faced. "I'm no one's bitch!" he snapped, but he made no attempt to grapple Tempest again.

"Neither am I," Tempest answered evenly, but firmly, with no room to argue. He might not mind if things got a little rough, but not without warning, and not by someone who thought enjoying a little manhandling made him somehow _lesser_. Tempest would be out the door and gone already, if there was any part of him that could believe Jerry actually _wanted_ to do things this way.

Poor kid probably got stressed and confused and didn't think he had a choice but to try and dominate the encounter. Whatever demons he was fighting were his own to deal with. Tempest wasn't going to put up with anything on account of them. Jerry was lucky Tempest had asked Rex to stay outside: the cyberdog was very protective, and less forgiving than Tempest.

Tempest picked his hat up off the packed-earth floor, dusting it off on his knee, with his eyes never leaving Jerry and his hand never leaving the butt of his pistol. "Now, pardner, there's three ways we could resolve this situation." Tempest put his hat on, so he could count them on his fingers. "You can do me sweet and let me do the same. You can decide that's not your pleasure, and we part ways as friends. Or you can attempt to force the issue, and join the line of men I've put in the ground. So tell me, which is it gonna be?"

Jerry deflated as Tempest spoke. He hugged his torso, taking a small step back from him. "I... I don't know?" his voice had gone very small.

Tempest relaxed his stance, releasing his gun. He softened his voice, speaking gently now that he seemed to have gotten through to Jerry and the chance of being attacked again seemed to have faded. "Would you like me to leave?"

"No." Jerry shook his head quickly.

"All right," Tempest agreed, soothingly. "Then how about we take a seat and calm down before we make any decisions?" The inside of the ger was pretty sparse, other than a couple books and a low bed covered in furs. Tempest gestured toward the bed, and Jerry nodded.

Tempest sat, and Jerry hesitantly sat beside him. Easy does it. Tempest didn't even look toward Jerry, to start with. The last thing he wanted to do was stress him again. Instead, he took his pack off and began rummaging through it. He was traveling light, at the moment, but he always liked to have a few sarsaparillas on hand. He popped the cap off one and took a sip before passing it to Jerry. Jerry accepted it happily, savoring a long pull before handing it back.

They were in no hurry to finish the sarsaparilla, and took a few minutes to polish it off between the two of them. By the time it was done, the tension in the room had eased considerably. Tempest waved it off when Jerry offered him the last sip, and he finished off the last drops and set the empty bottle aside with a contented sigh.

Tempest bumped his knee against Jerry's, still not looking directly at him. "Mind telling me why you jumped me?"

"I, um... you know, people say things?" Jerry said, picking at one of the rough seams in his pants, not looking directly at Tempest either. "And I didn't want that, and I was scared you were gonna because I _know_ I'm a shitty excuse for a Great Khan. But I am still a Khan! I'm not gonna just take it from anyone. So I... you know."

Not the most eloquent, but Tempest could work with it. "You got scared, so you tried to do to me what you were afraid I'd do to you?"

There was silence in the tent for a long, uncomfortable, moment. "Oh." Jerry whimpered and crumpled in on himself, hiding his face behind his hands. "That's really bad, isn't it?"

"I'll tell it to you straight, pardner. It ain't good."

"Shit." Jerry sniffled. "I fucked it all up." He sniffed again hard, scrubbing at his eyes viciously with the back of his arm like that could hide any evidence of tears.

Genuine remorse was a good sign, but wallowing in it overlong helped no one. Tempest reached over to stroke Jerry's back, a gentle back and forth. Jerry flinched, and then melted toward him, cuddling against his side.

"I meant what I said. Somebody ought to treat you right." Tempest finally met Jerry's eye again, and smiled slightly. "I'd still like to do it, if you want me to, but for that you'd need to tell me what it is you _do_ want."

"I don't know."

Tempest stilled. "Would this be your first time, Jerry?"

"No!" Jerry said it too sharp and fast, and flinched away from Tempest's skeptically raised eyebrow. "It's not the same, fooling around with girls, or giving a friend a hand. But I'm not a kid anymore, and everyone else made it to Khan or... or...." he broke himself off, shaking his head. 'Or died', Tempest filled in mentally. "They left me behind. No one wants me anymore, except for... and I'm _not_ gonna take it."

Tempest could see how frustrating that would be, no longer a child but unable to pass the threshold into adult. The Khans were a hard bunch, and Jerry was a tender soul stuck among them. If some cruel bully told Jerry he'd only be kept around as someone's 'bitch' because he couldn't pass the initiation, and he'd believed it, it was no wonder he'd panicked when he was alone with a man who'd expressed an interest in bedding him.

Tempest was more than familiar with the things people assumed about slender, pretty men like the two of them. Personally he found nothing particularly demeaning about any type of sex, so long as everyone involved was enjoying themselves, but he was aware of the opinions people had about certain acts. He was prepared to write off anything that could be construed as having an 'active' and 'passive' participant, for this encounter. There were still plenty of things they could do together.

"Well, I'm sure you know a little of what you'd like," Tempest prompted, still stroking Jerry's back. His eyes fell on the well-worn books. That was a possibility. "How 'bout this. You ever read somethin', and want it for yourself?"

Jerry stilled, and blushed bright red. That did seem like a yes, though he didn't say it aloud.

"Would you like to read it to me?"

Jerry shook his head, and closed his eyes. When he spoke, it was clear he was reciting. "They undressed each other and rolled into the bedding together, bare skin against skin. Soft touches to the secret places of each other's bodies drew out the panted mewls of their pleasure, until sunrise brought light back to the world."

Tempest nodded with a pleased hum. It was a charmingly sweet passage, if a little low on detail to suit his own taste in erotica. "Well, I can't promise to last a whole night, but that don't sound like a bad place to start."

"We can't really?" Jerry seemed to be stuck somewhere between hope and incredulity. "I mean... they were women, and we're men."

Tempest smiled, his best high-voltage smile and all aimed directly at Jerry, focusing it into a laser beam strong enough to incinerate all his doubts. "The way I see it, pardner, no one can _stop_ us from tumblin' each other any way we damn well please."

Jerry laughed, a nervous titter, but his eyes were smiling. This time when he reached for Tempest, it was to pet his chest—awkward, but affectionate. "There was also a lot of kissing in the book?" he hinted, leaning in.

Tempest was happy to oblige. Jerry's mouth tasted like sweet sarsaparilla, and his kisses were soft little things, little pecks that never pushed for anything deeper than their lips. Tempest followed Jerry's lead, in that. Let him set the pace, and get comfortable. He stroked Jerry's body in long slow strokes, everywhere he could easily reach. When Jerry began unbuttoning his shirt, he set his hat and glasses aside with his pack, and returned the favor by unfastening Jerry's overalls and tugging his shirt up over his head, but not before asking permission in a breathless whisper.

It felt good to rub their chests together, skin soft between them as neither of them had much body hair to speak of. Tempest lay himself down in the furs on the bed, and urged Jerry to climb on top of him. Something occurred to him, as Jerry clumsily tried to arrange himself.

"You know I ain't looking for anything permanent? Just a good time."

Jerry's brow furrowed. "Yeah? You're a courier, right?"

"Not all couriers are like that," Tempest pointed out, even if he did feel a bit of vindication. "But _I_ certainly am. I'm happy to hear we're on the same page. C'mere." He tugged Jerry closer. He enjoyed stroking every bit of Jerry, the feel of his slight body atop his, Jerry's mouth on him, being able to hold him so close, and their legs tangled up together. They rose and fell, pelvises pressed tight together, grinding with their pants still on.

Jerry, unsurprisingly, was overwhelmed quickly. He came with a gasp and a shudder in Tempest's arms. Tempest held him through it, groaning along with his pleasure, and kissing him again when Jerry wasn't gasping too hard to kiss back.

Jerry nuzzled noses with him, flushed and smiling, and then rolled away to get his cleanup rag. Which was actually a pair of dirty boxers. Tempest watched him, biting his lip and breathing through the heat of arousal that throbbed through him.

"Mind if I?" he asked, miming a quick pumping motion near his groin, when Jerry was done and looked back at him.

"Oh! Oh, yeah. Go ahead."

Tempest moaned as he, unfastened his belt, popped the button, and reached into his pants for his aching cock. He didn't look away from Jerry, who was eyeing him up and down with something that looked like longing.

"Kiss me?" Tempest made sure it came out like a question, hoping he wouldn't feel pressured. Jerry gave him a relieved smile and climbed back onto the bed with him. He settled in at Tempest's side, cuddling up and kissing him. Tempest was in no rush to finish. He stroked his cock slow and lazy with one hand, and Jerry's body with the other.

Jerry's soft, smooth skin was broken up by lumpy scars here and there—reminders of the times he'd failed to pass the Khan's brutal initiation. He tended to flinch from unexpected or new touches, so Tempest stuck to a few he seemed to particularly like, and tried to telegraph well in advance when he was going to switch.

Tempest kissed Jerry's mouth, deepening it will little explorations with his tongue. He rubbed his face against Jerry's neck, breathing in the sweaty musk of his skin. He kissed and nibbled the tender skin there, when it seemed that Jerry was into it.

By the time Tempest was shuddering his way to orgasm against him, Jerry was hard again and stroking his own cock. Ah, youth. Tempest cleaned himself up briefly, and Jerry pulled him on top of himself so they could keep kissing and touching as he brought himself to his second peak. Tempest bit back the offer to suck him off. Not while that kind of act was so likely to be tangled up with ideas of power and masculinity in Jerry's head. Instead he bit the muscle over Jerry's heart, and held him close, and busied his mouth with burning hot whispers telling him exactly how much he enjoyed being involved in his pleasure.

Jerry's eyes rolled back in his head, and he came with a rough sound gritting between his teeth.

They lay cuddled together afterward, enjoying the afterglow. They both finally got rid of their pants, and curled up in nothing but their boxers. Tempest rested his head on Jerry's chest, over his heart, listening to the beat and the steady whoosh of his breath. Jerry pet his back, a slow stroke up and down, just to be close to him.

Tempest noticed immediately when Jerry's breath started to become choppy, when he sniffled and covered his face with his arm to hide his tears from Tempest.

"It's all right," Tempest soothed. "There's no shame in cryin'. I swear I won't tell a soul."

Jerry made a choking sound and turned his face away, but he also held Tempest tighter with his other hand, clinging to him for all he was worth.

"I'm here," Tempest said, not sure how else to comfort Jerry, other than to hold him and be there. The afternoon was fading, the dim light that shone through the walls of the ger fading to shadows, and he had nowhere he needed to rush away to.

"I'm never going to be a real Khan," Jerry said, when the bulk of his tears had faded. "I've tried five times and I still haven't made it. They're all just a bunch of big dumb jerks with no appreciation for art!"

"It don't sound like you're happy, being a Great Khan," Tempest tried, tentatively. A man couldn't help noticing that Jerry was a bad fit among them. "There are people out there who'd value your kind of passion."

"It wasn't always like this," Jerry protested. "It wasn't as bad before the... before. But ever since, everyone who's left had to be twice as mean, and three times as tough, and I'm... I'm not."

'before Bitter Springs' Tempest filled in, mentally. The massacre had left its scars on everyone.

"It might not have been as bad before," Tempest said, "But it _is_ this bad now, and I don't think it's like to change any time soon. I hate seein' you miserable."

Jerry whined, shaking his head. He was quiet for a long moment, clearly thinking, before he spoke again. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I can find my true calling, someplace they'll appreciate my poetry!" He uncovered his face, craning his head up a bit to look at Tempest on his chest. "Do you think the Followers of the Apocalypse would take me? I loved all the books they brought us when they visited our tribe. I used to read pre-War poetry for hours..."

"Probably," Tempest said. He couldn't imagine they wouldn't. "You seem their type."

"You think so?" Jerry squirmed, smiling hugely as he flopped back down, but his joy was short lived. He sobered, taking a shaking breath. "But what if I went there, and they said no? The Khans wouldn't take me back, and then I'd have _nobody_."

"I..." Tempest hesitated, then forged on. "I could ask for you, next time I'm passin' through Freeside."

"You'd do that for me? Thanks!" Jerry squirmed again, clearly thrilled. He kissed the crown of Tempest's head, rocking him back and forth in a hug.

Tempest didn't want to ruin his happiness, he didn't, but there was something else he had to say. Something he had to be certain of before he delivered Jerry to the Followers of the Apocalypse. He lifted himself up a bit, to be able to look Jerry in the eye. "If I do this for you, pardner, if I get you into the Followers, and I hear that you've done to someone what you tried to do to me, I _will_ end you."

Jerry's breath caught, eyes going shock-wide with betrayal. Tempest didn't like to use it, but the other side of his silver tongue was a razor edge sharp enough to cut a man's heart out. Sometimes it was necessary to scare the shit out of somebody.

"If I vouch for you, and you rape somebody; that's on me." He had to make sure Jerry understood exactly what Tempest was risking, why he had to take such a hard line. Jerry nodded, and Tempest dropped his head, resting his forehead against Jerry's chest. He let his voice go soft, aching. "Don't make me do it. Promise me, Jerry."

Jerry stroked his hair, hesitant, and when he spoke his voice was shaking as hard as his hands. "I promise. I'm not going to fuck it up, if you get me out of here. I'm sorry, and it was a mistake, and I _won't_ do it again. I _promise_."

And that was the best Tempest could hope for.


	9. Marcus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the Sierra Madre's Grand Opening, Tempest just wants to feel safe. He heads to Jacobstown to see Lily and, incidentally, Marcus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: canon-typical slavery mentions, self-harm mentions, brief mention of suicidal thoughts

Marcus felt like he'd gotten to know Tempest the courier fairly well.

Tempest was a cheerful little human, curious and friendly and completely unintimidated by the fact that Jacobstown was populated almost entirely by super mutants. He was always willing to pitch in a helping hand around town—running off mercenaries and clearing out nightstalkers and always happy to spend time with Lily, which made her happy in turn. He even talked _Keene_ into patiently waiting for a cure, rather than abandoning Jacobstown and terrorizing the wasteland, which was more than Marcus had been able to do.

Tempest blew through on the Mojave wind now and again, bringing news and supplies and an array of interesting companions. An NCR sniper most often, but also a Brotherhood scribe, a gifted ghoul mechanic, a cyberdog that Doc Henry was able to fix up, and others. Tempest's eclectic mix of companions put his friendship with Jacobstown in context. He was the type of man who made friends with everyone, and could make people of almost any background play nice together.

A good courier was worth more than their weight in caps. Hell, with how tiny Tempest was, he'd be worth it twice. Marcus couldn't have hoped for a better messenger to carry Jacobstown's trade offers, once they were ready to make them, and he made sure to cultivate Tempest's good will—a task Tempest didn't make hard. He was an easy friend to make, and a good friend to have.

Marcus felt he had a good handle on Tempest, that he knew what to expect of him. He was vain, and clever, and charismatic, but above all _dependable_. The friendliest little man in the Mojave would show up with a companion, a pack of interesting goods, and his irrepressible good cheer, and light up the entire town. Tempest's smile shone as bright as the Vegas Strip.

So to say that Marcus was _surprised_ when Tempest showed up alone, looking worn and ragged, would be an understatement. Tempest walked with his shoulders hunched in, with none of his usual swagger. He stopped at the gate, and looked up at Marcus with haggard, red-rimmed eyes with huge dark circles under them that the tan of his skin did nothing to hide. He looked like a man who'd stared into hell, and seen hell looking right back.

When Tempest smiled, it was a thin, unconvincing thing that didn't come anywhere near his eyes. His voice, though, when he spoke, sounded just as bright and cheerful as it always did. And that might have been the scariest part, that he sounded so _normal_ when he looked so bad.

"Howdy, pardner, is Lily around? She up to having visitors?"

"Lily's always happy to see you." Marcus said, cautiously. He gestured toward her. "With the bighorners."

"Thank you kindly." Tempest nodded to Marcus, flinching slightly like maybe the bandanna he had tied around his throat was more of a bandage than a fashion accessory, and walked past him into Jacobstown before Marcus could formulate a question to ask.

Marcus frowned and followed, from a bit of a distance. You didn't live as long as he did, and hold a leadership position in so many towns, without learning some healthy caution. When a friend starts acting out of character, you keep your eyes on them. When he'd let things like that slide, he'd regretted it more often than not.

Tempest went directly to the bighorner enclosure, and dropped his pack at the corner of it like he didn't care if it was stolen or not—another out of character action from a man who habitually treated his pack like it was a part of his body.

"Lily?" Tempest called out, raising his arm in a halfhearted wave.

"Is that you, pumpkin?" Lily set aside her shovel and stomped out of the enclosure. "Oh, sweetie," she breathed. "What's wrong?"

"Grandma," Tempest's voice broke on the word, the first time he'd called Lily anything but her name in Marcus' hearing. He stumbled toward her, arms out, and Lily swept him up in a hug.

And after that, well, it was a little hard to be suspicious of someone who was crying like the world was ending all over again.

Lily sank to her knees, cradling him close. "It's all right, pumpkin," she crooned, rocking Tempest back and forth and stroking his back. "You're all right. Gramma's here. Just let it all out."

Marcus leaned against the fence post beside Tempest's pack, facing away to give him what little privacy he could. Maybe Tempest  _had_ seen some version of hell, and held it together just long enough to find somewhere safe to fall apart. That was a pretty common reaction to trauma. The only surprise was that he'd come to Jacobstown to do it. A man like Tempest had friends everywhere.

Though... maybe not all that surprising. Lily had moved on to promising Tempest that she and Leo were going to chop whoever had upset him. A Nightkin 'grandma' who loved them unconditionally and had the strength and ferocity to protect them might make  _anyone_ feel safe. Anyone who didn't harbor anti-mutant bigotry, that is, which Tempest had already proven to be remarkably free of.

It reminded Marcus, most of all, of those early days with Jacob before they founded Broken Hills together. A lot of strays had seen them as safety, then.

Tempest cried himself out, and promised Lily that he'd already done his own chopping so she didn't have to. She chided him for that, and called him a good boy, and eventually left to the lodge to get him some food, since he'd missed lunch.

Tempest ambled toward Marcus when Lily wasn't there to take up his attention, and if his eyes were even redder than before, at least he was standing a little taller. "Thanks for watchin' my pack," he said, picking it up.

"Feeling better?" Marcus asked.

"Just a mite," Tempest said. His smile was still small and wavery, but much more real than the one he'd given him at the gate. He blew his nose, glanced toward the bighorners, the lodge, and then back at Marcus. "I'm... I'm not using her, am I? Lily. I know ain't her grandson, and she thinks I am. I just... needed."

"Hard to say," Marcus mused. "All I know is that Lily loves you, whether she knows you're Tempest or thinks you're Jimmy. She might be fuzzy on the specifics from day to day, but the emotions she feels are remarkably consistent. You make her happy. Are you using her? Maybe. Hurting her? Not by my estimation."

There wasn't a cut and dry answer Marcus could give him, but Tempest seemed to take what he was able to give well. He nodded, then flinched slightly and touched the bandanna on his throat. It was a little worrying, but Lily came back out with a super mutant sized portion of food for Tempest, and he went back to her, and the opportunity for Marcus to ask a question of his own had passed.

Tempest stuck to Lily's side all afternoon—helped her clean the bighorner paddock, and feed them, and check the fence lines for signs of night stalkers. Marcus returned to his regular patrol, keeping an eye on the gate and the community within it. That was his job.

After dinner, which Tempest spent cuddled up to Lily's side, Marcus expected he'd bed down with his bedroll on Lily's floor. He'd shown no interest in being anywhere but within arms reach of her since he arrived. So he was, again, surprised when Tempest didn't.

The sun was setting, gold and red on the horizon and casting Jacobstown in the shadow of the mountains. Marcus found a comfortable perch on the hollowed rock just outside the gate, and watched the night sweep in. He almost didn't notice Tempest, soft-footed stepping out to join him, and he had a feeling he wouldn't have if Tempest didn't _want_ him to notice.

Tempest looked fresh-scrubbed, like he'd taken advantage of the Lodge's washing facilities, and was holding two steaming mugs. He handed one toward Marcus. "Could I interest you in some mesquite coffee, pardner? My own recipe."

"Thanks." Marcus took the little mug gently from Tempest's little hand, and took a cautious sip. It was very good, and Tempest's tired eyes crinkled in a small hidden smile when Marcus said so.

"You're on the night shift, too?" Tempest asked. "That don't seem fair."

"Just covering the guard change," Marcus corrected. "I'll be off when they finish a lap of the perimeter. Not long."

Tempest made an understanding sound, and sipped his own coffee. His lasted longer than Marcus' did. When he was done, he didn't leave, just hugged his empty coffee cup to his chest like he was trying to soak up the residual warmth for comfort.

"You all right?" Marcus asked, softly.

Tempest twitched, an aborted flinch, and then laughed a cracked, broken laugh that wasn't funny in the slightest. "I will be, don't you worry," he said. "I've just had... a shitty couple'a weeks." He rubbed lightly at his neck. "I spent the better part of them with a slave collar 'round my throat, which weren't something I'd ever hoped to experience."

Marcus didn't know what to say to that other than a quiet, "Damn." That would certainly explain Tempest's uncharacteristic state of mind. He sat in silence for a minute, just watching the fade of the day, before he spoke again. "Want to talk about it, or be distracted from it?"

"Well, now," Tempest's voice had gone warm. He pulled his glasses off, the better to gaze up at Marcus from under his lashes. "What kind of distraction is it you're offering?"

"Really." Marcus kept his tone flat, communicating his disbelief.

Tempest just shrugged, and the brief flash of a smile on his face was the brilliant thing Marcus was used to from him. "Can't fault a man for trying." He took his time putting his glasses back on, giving Marcus a leisurely once-over before looking away. "I'd be lyin' if I said I'd never given the possibility a thought."

Once again, Marcus was surprised by Tempest, which just went to show that he hadn't really had all that good an understanding of him after all. There were things to consider, then. The appreciation he felt for all Tempest had done for Jacobstown. The friendship Marcus had come to depend on. The warmth that tended to settle in Marcus' chest when Tempest sought him out to talk to him. The magnetism of Tempest's smile, bright as the Mojave sun, and how Marcus wanted to gravitate toward it whenever he was near. That Tempest was, in the human way, a particularly beautiful man, even if Marcus usually went for burly partners.

The fact that Tempest was clearly traumatized and emotionally vulnerable. That one. That one was the most important, superseding the others.

"You don't seem to be in the best frame of mind to offer meaningful consent," Marcus said.

Tempest turned his coffee cup in his hands, around and around, looking out at the gathering dusk. "Weren't that kind of slavery," he said, quietly, which was an entire horrifying angle on the matter that Marcus hadn't even _considered_. "You're not wrong, though. My mind ain't in the best of places, but what I want—" his voice wavered, and he took a deep breath to continue with his customary light tone. Marcus didn't want to know what it was costing him. "What I _want_ is to make my own choices. Go wherever I damn well I feel like going. Pick up a man I like, one feel safe with, for no other reason than because I _want_ to bed him." He shook his head sharply, then reached up to touch his throat like the motion had hurt. "But I don't intend to put you on the spot, pardner. I'll gladly take any distraction you can throw my way."

Marcus' original idea for a distraction had been an argument. Cheerfully debating their different philosophical views had always been his go-to with Jacob, but that didn't seem quite right anymore. The night guards finally rounded the opposite corners of the fence, making their ponderous way along the perimeter toward the gate, and any chance of a private conversation was gone.

Marcus thought, while the guards approached. He shared a few words with them, and was assured that they had seen nothing out of the ordinary. With that taken care of, Marcus reached over and gently put his hand on Tempest's back. Tempest's shoulders loosened at the contact, and he exhaled almost a sigh, eyelids briefly drooping.

"Come with me," Marcus said, standing.

One of the little bungalows in Jacobstown was both in decent shape and for the most part unused. Marcus led Tempest to it with a hand still on his shoulder. He'd never touched Tempest before, but now, feeling his delicate bones and the firmness of his muscles through his soft shirt, he didn't want to stop.

The bungalow had most of its pre-war furnishings, in various states of disrepair, and one of the lights even worked when Marcus hopefully flipped the switch. The bed was in decent shape, though, and Marcus sat on the edge of it, facing Tempest.

"Well?" he said.

"Well," Tempest echoed warmly, quirking an eyebrow. He dropped his pack beside the bed, placed his hat and glasses atop it, and stepped up to stand between Marcus' knees.

They were almost the exact same height, with Marcus sitting. Tempest's eyes had gone to shadows and gold in the faint light, and still looked terribly tired, but there was an excited sparkle in them that made him look more like his usual self. He leaned in close, his breath teasingly warm against Marcus' lips. One little hand stroked seductively up the back of Marcus' neck. Tempest made a faint sound, a hungry thing whined less than an inch from Marcus' mouth, but he didn't close the distance.

Marcus did it himself. Tempest moaned, eagerly opening into the kiss and giving it everything he had. Marcus held back, kissing carefully—sucking face being a euphemism and not something he actually wanted to do to someone. Tempest lifted one knee to kneel on Marcus' thigh, getting that much closer to him. Marcus wrapped his arms around Tempest, holding him secure and enjoying the compact delicacy of Tempest's body.

He felt it as soon as Tempest started to shake. He drew back from the kiss, from the sweet probing flicks of Tempest's tongue and the softness of his lips and the delicious little nips of his sharp little teeth. He opened his hands, setting Tempest loose if loose is what he wanted to be, but Tempest showed no desire to leave. He pushed himself against Marcus' chest, clinging to his neck and shoulders. He didn't try to reopen the kiss, just pressed his forehead against Marcus', eyes closed and breathing hard.

"Please?" Tempest whispered, heartbreakingly small.

Marcus very gently took hold of him and pushed him a step away. "Still not sure this is a good idea," he confessed. "Ever been with a super mutant?"

Tempest steadied himself on his feet, the frightening vulnerability tucked away as if it had never been on display. "I've been with human men of all kinds, a handful of ghouls, even a robot once, but no, I can't say I've ever had the chance to tumble with a super mutant." He put his hand over Marcus' on his chest, holding it to his heart. "I'd be honored if you were my first." He said it with such intensity, radiating such honesty, that Marcus' heart leapt inside him with no permission from him.

"You get around," Marcus commented, to give himself time to think. He _wanted_ , was the thing. He wanted to do what Tempest wanted of him. That Tempest could be dangerously persuasive was no surprise, but having it leveled at himself was still an experience.

Tempest preened, like it was the best complement he'd heard all day. "I do all right by myself. What about you, pardner? You ever been with a human man?"

"Yes." The word came out too short and sharp, alone, so Marcus continued. "Jacob. Man I named the town for. He was—" The most infuriating person in the world. My best friend. My soulmate. A horrible joke the universe played on us both. "He was my husband."

"Oh." Tempest's expression went soft with sympathy. He cupped the side of Marcus' face.

Marcus didn't want any empty platitudes, didn't want Tempest—dealing with his own acute wounds—to try and offer him comfort for an old one that was never going to fade entirely but didn't rule his life. "Long time ago. So I have experience. With him, and others."

"I knew I'd put myself in good hands." Tempest affectionately stroked the hand on his chest, eyes crinkling in a faint smile again. "But you know I ain't the marrying type? The courier life suits me to the bone."

"Good. I prefer casual." Marcus couldn't give his heart away like that again. Especially not to a human he'd inevitably outlive.

Tempest made a pleased sound, thick lashes falling over his hypnotic eyes as he moved forward against Marcus' restraining hand to kiss him again. Marcus gave in, briefly. He kissed back, arousal slowly warming him at the way Tempest moaned around his tongue, the way he rubbed his chest against Marcus' hand, the way his hands clenched on his body, pulling at him. He gave in, until Tempest moved to change the angle of the kiss and flinched back. He tried to hide it, but Marcus knew what he'd felt, and gently pushed him back again.

"You're injured," he said, and continued on quickly when Tempest opened his mouth with what he could only imagine was going to be a charming deflection. "You're _hurt_. Not just here." He circled his thumb on the center of Tempest's chest. "Here." He touched the bandanna that was hiding Tempest's neck. "Can't tell how badly, or if you're hurt anywhere else. Not comfortable continuing before I know."

Tempest's jaw tensed, briefly, before he sighed. "I can't fault you for that. My throat took the worst of it, but I promise it's nothin' a little healing powder ain't putting to right. I got lucky."

"Can I see?"

Tempest hesitated, and then shrugged like it didn't matter to him one way or another and began untying the bandanna. "Airing it out might help it heal. There. Ain't so bad." He lowered the bandanna—thickly dusted with healing powder on the inside—and slightly raised his chin to show Marcus.

There was some bruising, not surprising, and a few small sores where the slave collar had rubbed his thin human skin away beneath it, also not surprising. Both looked to be on their way to healing. It was what was lower, almost hidden by the collar of Tempest's shirt, that caught him off guard. A line of ragged sores beneath a sharply delineated line, like claw marks. Like a panicking animal tearing itself apart on instinct when caught in a trap. Like Tempest had done it with his bare hands.

Marcus unbuttoned the first two buttons, laying Tempest's shirt open to see better. When he finally forced himself to look away from the (healing, uninfected, still horrifying) wounds, Tempest wouldn't met his eyes. He was looking past Marcus as though the bungalow wall was intensely fascinating.

"Like I said. I've had a real shitty couple'a weeks," Tempest said, lightly, even though he was faintly trembling again. "But it's over, and now I'm here, with you." His eyes fell to Marcus' unarmored shoulder, and he ran his hand over the curve of the muscle, like he found some beauty in the thick, scar-pitted green skin. "Because I _want_ to be."

Marcus cradled Tempest's neck and the back of his head in one hand, touching, with infinite care, only those places there were no injuries. He held Tempest secure, and leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of his jaw—faintly rough with stubble. Another kiss to his chin. Another to the side of his neck, in a place between sores, faintly bitter against his lips with antiseptic healing powder. Another, the same. Three along Tempest's clavicle, below his wounds.

Tempest whimpered, body shaking harder. He pulled Marcus in, holding onto his head to encourage him to continue. Marcus did. He wanted to, wanted to offer any comfort he could, wanted to heal Tempest with kisses as he couldn't any other way. It wouldn't do anything for the physical injuries, but tenderness might soothe the ones on his soul. If such a thing as a soul existed.

"Pardner!" Tempest gasped, arching his chest up toward Marcus' mouth when he undid a third button to be able to kiss more of it. "You're running hot and cold on me. I can't tell if we're coming or going here?"

Put that way, Marcus could see how his start-and-stop, testing the waters and his own comfort, would be confusing. Tempest had expressed what he wanted, repeatedly, while Marcus had not. Hadn't even given him a straight yes or no answer. Even realizing that, he still didn't have one to give.

"Want to," he said, leaving the 'but' hanging unspoken.

"And I want to with you."

"...you're shaking."

Tempest sighed. "I can't help that. I ain't scared of you, and it don't mean I ain't enjoying it, I just can't... be _strong,_ right now." There was a thread of desperation in his voice. "I don't want to be strong anymore. I want to let— _let go_."

There was something about the way he said those last words, the stumbling intensity of them, that made Marcus sure they meant something more to him. They were tangled up in his pain.

"Tell me, pardner." Tempest's voice had gone quiet again. Exhausted. "Just tell me. One way or the other, I don't care. I ain't askin' again."

It was cruel to hold a person who was at their limit—beyond it—in a state of uncertainty. Marcus opened his mouth, and despite the fact that he prided himself on being a man who was not ruled by his impulses, the "yes" that came out was entirely a decision of impulse. It was what he wanted, and not something he was sure was the right thing to do.

He wasn't actually sure there _was_ a right thing to do. The decision was made, though, and Tempest sagged against him in relief. It was hard to feel like he'd done the wrong thing when Tempest was kissing all along his forehead.

Marcus lifted his face, and kissed Tempest on the mouth again. Now that he knew how Tempest was injured, he could try and avoid making him move in ways that would strain his healing skin. Now that he knew the superficial nature of Tempest's injuries, the physical ones at least, he could rest easy knowing he wasn't doing irreparable harm if Tempest did move wrong and flinch. Having spoken about it, he could enjoy the kiss, the give and take of it, how much of his body Tempest put into it in his eagerness, even though that body was shaking like dry grass in the wind.

He finished unbuttoning Tempest's shirt and pulled it off him. He smoothed his hands over Tempest's arms and torso, enjoying the delicate softness of his skin and assuring himself that other than the small bruises and scrapes any wastelander picked up, Tempest was unhurt. His neck really had taken the worst of it.

Tempest climbed onto him again when Marcus was satisfied and bent back to the task of kissing. He straddled Marcus' lap, kneeling on his thighs, and rocked back and forth with every stroke of Markus' hand on his body. And the things he could do with his tongue, once they really got going into the deep and dirty, were a revelation.

"Good?" Marcus asked, after some time, just to be sure. His voice was deeper and rougher with his arousal, and he felt a jolt pass through Tempest's body at the sound.

"Good," Tempest answered in a moan. He tugged at the chestplate of Marcus' armor. "Better than good, if we could get you outta this. I'd like to feel you."

"Oh! Sure." Marcus was so used to wearing it, he hadn't thought about how uncomfortable it would feel against a fragile human body. He hitched Tempest up with one arm and stood, carrying Tempest with him. Mostly to hear Tempest's breath catch at the casual show of strength. There were no rules against showing off. He grabbed the extremely dusty top blanket that covered the bed, and tossed it away so he could set Tempest down on the somewhat cleaner bedding beneath.

There wasn't much of a strip-show Marcus could make of taking off his armor. There were a few buckles to undo, and then it just lifted right off. Tempest lounged out on one elbow (with only mild wincing), and kneaded the bulge of his cock through his pants as he watched.

Tempest made a pleased humming sound when Marcus set it aside and was nearly bare, looking him up and down. "Take the rest off for me, would you?" he suggested, when Marcus made to rejoin him in nothing but his undershorts.

Marcus didn't make any more of a show of taking his undershorts off, just hooked his thumbs through the waistband and shoved them down, and climbed onto the bed with Tempest. "Thoughts?" he prompted.

Tempest dragged his gaze up from Marcus' groin and abandoned groping his own cock in favor of shifting closer and petting Marcus' chest—familiarizing himself with the scarred green skin. His hand reached Marcus' lower belly, stroking back and forth along the his pudge, gaze even further down, and he finally answered. "My thoughts are running along the lines that artist interpretations tend toward overly generous. You're hardly any bigger than some humans I've met, but there still ain't no way you're fitting anywhere in me. I hope you weren't expectin' to?"

"Hah! No." Marcus had absolutely not expected that, not with someone as small as Tempest. And not with someone in his fragile state of mind, either. It was a relief to him that Tempest felt comfortable stating his preferences, though. He drew Tempest in and kissed him softly. "Relax. Want to make you feel good. Nothing else."

Tempest nipped his bottom lip on the next kiss, sharp and delicious, and groaned at Marcus' gasp. "The thing is, pardner, what I like best is showing my lovers a good time." He glanced down again, between their bodies, and shook his head slightly. "I'd be hard pressed to do much for you with my mouth, even if I had a condom you could comfortably wear. And that's a damn shame."

"You... do know there are literally no diseases we could pass each other?"

"I know," Tempest said. "But I _can't_. That's a hard limit and one I've got no interest in pushin' for any reason or with any one."

"Of course." Marcus had noted that Tempest got around, hadn't he? It was good that he protected himself and others, even if it made no sense in their particular context. Which was a complete side-track from the actual conversation they'd started having. "Wouldn't let you. Not with—" he touched Tempest's neck, on an uninjured spot, then stroked down his narrow chest and belly. "Let me take care of you. Getting me off won't be a problem."

Tempest exhaled a shaking breath, gazing up at him with exhausted eyes. "All right, then," he agreed. A faint smile lifted one corner of his mouth as he let himself sink flat onto the bed, relaxing. "I'm in your hands."

That surrender, that trust, made Marcus' heart clench. He cradled Tempest's head in one big hand, a point of contact that he practically melted into, and kissed his sleek hair, his fragile eyelids, his cheeks, his lips, and further down his body.

They were in agreement, now. He wanted to take care of Tempest, and Tempest wanted to be taken care of. That made things simpler. When Marcus began working on unbuttoning Tempest's pants, he kicked his boots off and helped shimmy out of them, so they were both bare in the bed. He stroked every bit of Tempest's body, so that every inch of him was appreciated. Marcus couldn't heal his sores and bruises, couldn't undo the horrors he'd endured, but he could make sure that here and now Tempest felt good all over. And Tempest let him, with quiet moans and whispered words of encouragement to let him know that he was enjoying it.

When Tempest started to shake again like he'd fall apart, Marcus crawled over top of him and lay enough of his body weight on him to press him into the bed like that would hold him together. Tempest's soft mouth lured him into kisses that grew deeper with every thrust of his tongue. Tempest's cock, which had hardened and softened untouched as Marcus went about his work, became throbbingly hard and pushed insistently against his belly with short little thrusts of Tempest's hips.

Tempest's cock was damp with precome when Marcus reached between them to carefully stroke it. Tempest gasped, breaking the kiss, and strained upward with his whole body, whimpering between gritted teeth.

"Easy," Marcus soothed, gentling his hand even more—afraid he'd misjudged his own strength on such a delicate little cock. "Take it easy. This ok?"

Tempest growled and grabbed Marcus' hand, squeezing it like he could force him to grip harder again. "I'm losing my damn mind, pardner. Is it... is any of this doin' _anything_ for you?" His eyes, previously closed, fluttered open to search Marcus' face with something like desperation.

Marcus shifted a bit further over Tempest, so his own cock pressed against Tempest's thigh. It was every bit as hard as Tempest's. "Yes," he said, simply.

Tempest let out a low moan. This time, when he rutted up into Marcus' hand, his firm thigh muscle flexed against Marcus' cock. Marcus' breath caught.

"That's more like it," Tempest breathed.

The rhythm built up between them again, sweet and hot, with Marcus stroking Tempest's cock and frotting against his thigh as they kissed. Tempest clung to him, moving with his every motion, and dug his nails onto Marcus' back with a gasp when he circled his thumb around the crown of Tempest's cock.

"Harder," Marcus groaned. Tempest made an inarticulate questioning sound, doing no such thing, and Marcus had to explain. "Super mutant. Thick skin. Scratch _harder_ , please."

Little human hands had no chance of actually harming skin that was tough enough to stop most low-caliber bullets. All Tempest's short nails did, when he raked them hard across Marcus' back, was intensify the sensation to a satisfying level. He moaned, and Tempest answered with one of his own, cock pulsing in Marcus' fingers. The feedback was wonderful, the give and take, two bodies getting off on each other's pleasure.

"I wish you could feel this," Tempest gasped, shaking harder. His golden skin was dewed with sweat, his face flushed, panting and unfocused. He was close, he must be. "Fuck! You can't know. Can't know how good it is, what it's like feeling you. So strong, and so gentle."

"Don't be so sure," Marcus corrected, breathless himself. "You haven't _lived_ 'till you've been tenderly jacked off by a man in power armor."

Tempest laughed. It was a beautiful sound, carefree and happy in his surprise, and all the more beautiful when it changed to a guttural cry to accompany his orgasm. His cock pulsed in Marcus' grip, come dribbling out over his fingers as Tempest bucked and twisted in pleasure and then stilled beneath him.

Marcus wiped his hand briefly on the blankets and grabbed his own cock for those last few strokes he needed to come. "You should laugh," he murmured, a burning whisper against Tempest's cheek. They felt, in the moment, like the most important words in the world. "Always. Every day. You should be happy, you should—!" and then he was too far gone to speak, even words as nonsensical as he'd been saying. His own orgasm shook him, cock jerking in his grip. Tempest, holding him, moaned like he was feeling it himself.

There was little to clean up, when they were done. As a super mutant, Marcus didn't ejaculate, and Tempest hadn't made much. He wiped himself down with a clean bandanna from his utility belt, and then flopped back on the bed to grin at Marcus.

"I don't know about you, pardner, but that hit the spot." His eyes were sparkling. "Really, though. A man in power armor?"

Marcus couldn't help smiling back. He put his hand on Tempest's chest, idly petting. "Don't knock it 'till you try it."

Tempest laughed again, a soft chuckle, shaking his head at Marcus. "Well shit, I reckon I ain't half as adventurous as I thought." He beckoned Marcus in, angling his face up to beg for a kiss.

"Adventurous enough," Marcus murmured, and gave him the kiss he asked for and more after it. They were gentle things, little pecks passed between them with no fire and all the intimacy in the world. It was lazy and sweet, and it took Marcus a criminal amount of time to realize that Tempest was bleeding.

He jerked back as soon as he recognized the slowly spreading crimson stain low on Tempest's neck. "Blood," he said, pointing.

"I must've cracked one of the scabs," Tempest said, pressing his hand to the spot and crawling over to his pack. "It don't hurt. Well... no more than it has been. Not that I've been feeling any pain, mind you, what with all the pleasure. Here we go." Tempest had a half-bottle of vodka and a little pouch of healing powder. He wet a torn piece of cloth generously with the vodka, and pressed it to the spot with a harsh hiss through his teeth. Once cleaned and sterilized, Tempest dressed the wound with healing powder, which stopped the bleeding.

Finally, he spread a little extra healing powder on the bandanna he'd been wearing around his neck and tied it back in place to protect his injuries again. Tempest was clearly well-versed in basic wasteland medicine, and used to taking care of himself. It was Marcus' fault Tempest had taken the bandage off in the first place. He should have insisted that Tempest put it back after he'd determined he wasn't too badly wounded. Humans were so much more fragile than super mutants.

"There we are, no harm done." Tempest pulled a blanket out of his pack, too, and wrapped it around his shoulders as he knee-walked across the bed back to Marcus. "It's cold here in the mountains. Mind if I cuddle?"

"Here." Marcus rolled onto his back and reached for Tempest, who happily lay on top of him and spread the blanket over them both. Marcus rubbed Tempest's back slowly, and enjoyed the feel of the small man relaxing into bonelessness on his chest.

"Ain't you the sweetest man," Tempest sighed. "I knew you'd be a good choice."

"You do seem to be in higher spirits," Marcus said. That was always a worry, with a human—that once the initial curiosity and passion were over, that they'd be disgusted. Tempest was friendly enough with everyone in Jacobstown that Marcus hadn't really expected it of him, but his vulnerable state of mind might have pushed him into something he didn't really want. "Glad you're better. Seemed... pretty bad."

"That's the thing, pardner." Tempest waved one hand vaguely. "The worse off I am, the more I want to fuck somebody. Just to feel somethin' nice instead. Works like a charm."

"Huh," Marcus squeezed Tempest in a very careful hug. "Interesting coping mechanism."

"Oh." Tempest stilled for a long moment. His voice was very quiet when he spoke again. "Shit. That _is_ what it is, ain't it?" He lifted himself up a bit, resting his chin on his hands so he could look down at Marcus. "I'd never thought about it like that. It ain't liquor or chems, but—" He looked vulnerable again, lost. "It's just what I like to do."

"We all cope," Marcus said, hurriedly. "Survival demands it. Mechanism's not a problem if it's not a problem for you. Not hurting you or anyone. Doesn't feel out of control. If you don't... regret it."

The momentary tension eased again as Tempest's face softened. "I don't regret a damn thing," he said, with such intense eye contact it couldn't be read as anything but saying that he didn't regret _Marcus_. "I'd do it again. I _hope_ you'd like to do it again some time?" he trailed off hopefully.

"I'd like that." Marcus didn't have it in him to leave Tempest in suspense.

Tempest's eyes smiled, but when he opened his mouth, he yawned hugely instead of saying anything. The look of surprise on his face when he was done was enough to make Marcus snort a brief laugh.

"I apologize. Much as I enjoy talkin', I need some shuteye. I haven't been sleeping all that well these past weeks."

"Of course." Marcus lifted Tempest off of himself and sat up. "No one uses this bungalow, you're welcome to it. I'll let you rest."

Tempest grabbed his arm when he made to stand up, hard enough to startle Marcus. His eyes had gone fear-wide. "Don't leave. Don't leave me alone," he begged. He stopped himself quickly, though. Closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he leaned forward to press his forehead to Marcus' shoulder. His tone was light when he continued. "I mean to say: the bed's big enough for us both, and I ain't enamored of the thought of bein' alone. But I can bed down on Lily's floor if you've got a place you'd rather be."

There wasn't anywhere Marcus would rather be, if he thought about it. His own bed only had the advantage of familiarity. This one would serve as well, and the night guards had seen him come in here with Tempest. They'd know where to find him if he was needed. There was no reason not to.

"I'll stay," he said.

* * *

Marcus slept well—as well as he could, in an unfamiliar bed and beside an unfamiliar person. Tempest seemed to as well. It wasn't until dawn was beginning to light the dust-fogged windows pink that Tempest startled awake hyperventilating and clutching his throat.

He calmed down quickly, with Marcus speaking gently to him. The fact that he wasn't finding a bomb collar around his neck probably helped.

Tempest put his head between his knees and took deep measured breaths, stroking up and down his neck, until he wasn't shaking any more. "Last night," he said quietly. "You asked if I wanted to talk or be distracted. Is talkin' about it still an option?"

"Yes."

Tempest told the story, simple and chilling. The doomed Villa surrounding the fabled Sierra Madre casino, four slaves bound to the will of a deranged man who wanted to rob it. Toxic clouds and ghost people and murderous companions and the constant threat that any radio would set a bomb collar off and kill them all.

Tempest had walked through hell and come out the other side alive, but it struck Marcus that—as much as Tempest himself had suffered—it was the pain of Christine and the nightkin Dog-and-God that seemed to affect him most. That was the kind of man Tempest was. He helped and protected people, and to be unable to hurt his very soul. He'd held on, pulled through, and Marcus couldn't see a better way he could have resolved the situation given his meager resources.

The man who'd enslaved them was caught in a pre-war trap, locked underground with the cold and uncaring gold. The cruel Ghoul who'd dared harm Christine was hunted down without remorse. Christine was given respect and the dignity of her choices. Dog-and-God were brought to a greater understanding of themselves, more at peace. Or at least and no longer at war, for the moment.

"I don't know if I helped them. Dog-and-God were all broken up, on the inside, and they hurt themselves so much. I told 'em about you. Here. Jacobstown. I don't know if they'll come, but I _tried_. I don't know if it was the right thing to try and bring them together? It was all I could think to do."

"You tried. Gave it your best," Marcus echoed. "And your _best_ is better than most. Not many could do what you did, or would even care to try and help a nightkin."

"They're people too. Dog-and-God were like—like Lily and Leo gone all wrong. How could I _not_ care?"

"The worst part was the beeping." Tempest had his hands around his throat again, feeling the ghost of the slave collar. "I'll be hearing it in my nightmares, goin' faster and faster." He shuddered. "I'll tell you what, pardner, between a slave collar and two to the head; I'll take two to the head any day. It's over faster." He touched the scar above his eyebrow, tracing it back across his temple. "I was tempted," he whispered, like he didn't quite want Marcus to hear it.

"What stopped you? Kept you going?"

"I couldn't condemn Christine, or Dog-and-God. I gave them my word. I know who I am, and it ain't the kind of man who gives up when he's needed." Tempest, who had been curled up as he told his story, slowly sat up. He still looked wan and tired, but his face was shining in the pale morning light. His eyes were faraway, seeing something else. "I've always been a man who knows exactly who he is, even if nobody else does. I think I lost sight of that for a bit, somewhere in the gas clouds and beeping."

The strength Tempest hadn't been able to claim the night before seemed to come back to him, setting his shoulders and steeling his spine with confidence. He looked over at Marcus, and there he was. There was the irrepressible Tempest he'd always known. " _I know who I am_ , and I ain't done yet."

Marcus cupped the back of Tempest's head, just looking at him. His entire chest ached with pride to see a friend pull himself back together, brave and resilient without measure. He didn't make the mistake to think that Tempest was completely over his trauma, maybe he would never be, but he'd found his footing again. He couldn't help but think that Tempest would have made a super mutant unlike any other if he'd been around all that long ago.

But that was the past, and Marcus and Tempest were here now. Marcus drew him gently forward, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Welcome back, Tempest," he said.

Tempest laughed softly, and leaned into him.


	10. Arcade Gannon + Vera's Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a deep injustice that the game wouldn't let my courier wear Vera's dress, and one I was duty-bound to rectify.

Tempest had gone missing.

No one worried, at first, Arcade included. Tempest was always wandering, always haring off somewhere or other—couriers were known for their itchy feet, and Tempest was the most quintessential of couriers. No one worried the first week, but one week became two, and then three. Tempest had gone out with only Rex the cyberdog as company. Arcade had an idea that he'd gone back to the Khans after delivering the good news that they'd agreed to a contract with the Followers.

That, in itself, wasn't too worrying. The Khans were a hard group with a mixed reputation, but they were unlikely to turn on Tempest. In traveling with him, Arcade had seen first-hand how Tempest made himself loved. He would be safe among them. What was concerning was that the twitchy little bibliophile Tempest had winnowed away from the Khans to the Followers (Jerry, with a blush on his cheeks and stars in his eyes whenever he spoke of Tempest) said he'd left the Khans the same day he arrived, just passing through.

The truly frightening thing, what had them all scared, was that Rex wandered back to Freeside without him.

Wherever Tempest was, he was there alone. There was no way to tell if he'd sent Rex away by choice, or if Rex had given up watching over his corpse somewhere out in the desert. Tempest was alone, and everyone who'd traveled with him knew how much he hated being alone.

They were all worried, all those Tempest had chosen as companions. None of them had wanted to stay in the 38 without him. It was too eerily quiet, there beneath the silent eyes of Mr. House, without Tempest's energy to dispel the ghosts. It was a tomb. Arcade had been relieved to go back to the Followers, bland as food in the mess tent was. Raul had made some noises about going out to his shack in the desert, but Arcade had managed to bring him by the Old Mormon Fort, and people who were more convincing than he managed to rope the mechanic into helping out around Freeside. He and Bill Ronte became fast friends, and if even a third of their grand plans came to fruition all of Outer Vegas would be much better off.

The rest were taking on small jobs around Vegas, Boone as a hired gun, Veronica as a prospector, with a number of her finds making their way into Raul's hands to help with his projects. She wasn't quite allied with the Followers, but she worked adjacent to them, and they could use all the help they could get. Cass, as far as Arcade could tell, had started up a small-time whiskey operation. The last thing Freeside needed was more alcohol on the market, but if he had to look for a silver lining, at least no one was getting methanol poisoning from Cass's homebrew.

None of them had wanted to get too far from Tempest's base of operations, each for their own reasons. Tempest might make friends with everyone, but for companions, for his inner circle, he'd chosen people with loyalty. Arcade could respect them, even if he did not necessarily always agree with them. As the days wore on, as the weeks piled up, they met in twos and threes in passing. 'any news' 'no news', and with worried looks and grim faces they parted again.

It weighed like a stone in Arcade's belly—the knowledge that the Mojave was a deadly place, and that he would probably never know what had become of Tempest. He couldn't quite believe that Tempest would just walk away from Vegas and all of them without so much as a goodbye, courier or no.

Arcade worked, and worried, and he really was not in the mood to deal with it when one of the younger members of the Kings wandered into the Old Mormon Fort and mistook him for a medical doctor. Still, he tried to be polite when the kid flagged him down.

"If you're looking for medical help, try one of the other doctors," he said, trying to brush past. "I'm just a researcher."

"Are you Arcade Gannon?" the King asked. "I have a message for him."

That stopped Arcade right in his tracks, mind racing. Blackmail, that was always the fear—someone finding out about the Enclave and threatening to out him and undo his entire life. But no one could possibly know. He'd been so careful!

"You _are_ Dr. Gannon, right? He said 'tall, blond, and beautiful' and, I mean..." The King gestured toward all of Arcade, somewhat helplessly.

" _Who_ said?" Arcade demanded. The ego boost of being recognized for good looks took a far distant second to the general panic in his brain.

"Oh, sorry. Mr. Tempest sent me."

With the name, the little King dissolved all of Arcade's fear in a wild surge of hope. He breathed in, a huge shaking inhale. "Tempest. Is he all right? Where is he? What was the message? And before you ask again, yes of course I'm Arcade Gannon."

"Oh, good." The King looked away shyly, scuffing a toe in the dirt. "Mr. Tempest says to tell you, 'Honey, I'm home'."

"Thank _god_ ," Arcade breathed. "He'll be heading to the Lucky 38 I assume?" He patted the King's shoulder when he nodded. "Thank you. Thank you. I just need to—" He spun away, rushing into his tent to grab the hat Tempest had given him and then out the back to find Raul and Bill chatting over their little card table in the shade of the wall. "Tempest's back," he said, and Raul's big relieved smile matched the one he could feel on his face. "He sent a King with a message for me. I'm meeting him at the 38."

"All right, you kids have fun," Raul said, easily. "I'll spread the word... and do my best to keep the crew from barging in on you too early tomorrow."

"I appreciate that." Arcade was still not entirely sure how he felt about his connection to Raul, via Tempest. Raul didn't seem troubled by it at all, and at the moment Arcade was simply grateful that Raul had volunteered to both deliver the happy news for him and run interference so Arcade could have a private reunion with the man they'd both missed.

He ducked back into his tent, grabbed his doctor's bag out of habit and, on second thought, added an extra bottle of his manufactured lube to it. It never hurt to be prepared. Arcade had no experiments running that couldn't handle a twelve hour break. He left the tent, and was surprised when the little King was still there.

"Was there anything else you needed me for?" Arcade asked. He hoped Tempest hadn't promised caps on delivery of the message. He didn't have many to spare.

"I'm supposed to escort you safely through Freeside, if you want to go to the Strip." The King recited, straightening up with his hand on his pistol to make himself look professional.

"And how much will that cost?"

"Mr. Tempest already paid up," he assured Arcade.

"I appreciate the honesty." Arcade gestured toward the gate to Freeside. "If that's all, shall we?" He didn't particularly think he _needed_ a bodyguard to make it through Freeside, the Followers were well-respected and he had his plasma defender, but he was not entirely surprised that Tempest had hired him one. It was likely more about putting honest caps in the kid's pocket, and strengthening Tempest's relationship with the Kings, than it was for Arcade's safety.

"How was he?" Arcade asked. "Was he all right? Did he say anything else to you?"

"Um, Mr. Tempest seemed normal? Happy, smiling. But there was... actually..." The little King trailed off hesitantly. He was definitely blushing, deep red on the tips of his ears and bright high on his brown cheeks.

"Yes?" Arcade prompted. "I would like to hear everything."

"Therewasasecondpartofthemessage," he said, words running together in nervousness. He glanced up at Arcade, then away from him quickly. Mercifully, he continued before Arcade had to prompt him again. "A kiss. It was... a kiss?"

Arcade laughed, soft and dry. "Tempest kissed you." He couldn't say he was surprised. It was such a Tempest thing, to kiss the messenger he sent to summon one of his lovers after a long absence. Jealousy never occurred to him as a possibility, and, honestly, Arcade couldn't find it in him to feel in any way threatened by the little King. Neither did he want to make the poor boy kiss _him_ to 'deliver' the kiss. "You can keep it," he granted magnanimously, briefly patting the King's back. He'd be kissing Tempest himself, soon enough.

"Wow, really?" the little King beamed up at him, as though he'd actually been given a gift.

Arcade nodded solemnly. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Berto?"

"Well, Berto, I obviously can't claim to know his mind, but I don't believe Tempest would have kissed you if he didn't want to. The kiss is yours."

Berto grinned like his face would split, biting the first knuckle of one hand while he flapped the second at his side to make the fingers snap together. It was quite the little celebration, and Arcade pressed his lips together tight. He didn't want to laugh at the poor kid. He was not yet so old he couldn't remember being young, awkward, and eager.

They walked quietly, for a time. They were not waylaid by any thugs or junkies, and witnessed only the normal amount of misery for Freeside. They were coming up on the gate when Berto spoke again.

"What's it like, with Mr. Tempest?" he asked, wistfully

"Why do you ask?" Arcade could feel the chill in his tone.

Berto blushed again, and kicked a dented up can in the road. "He's just... he's _sooo_ ..." he waved his hands vaguely. Tempest did have that effect, didn't he? A different explanation seemed to occur to Berto, and he spoke much more firmly as he continued. "A King is supposed to be everything the name implies, in _every_ way. And Mr. Tempest, he's the best, isn't he? I should try to learn from the best." He nodded firmly, pleased with his line of reasoning.

It went against Arcade's nature to share intimate details about himself, or to tell crass stories about a sexual partner. But he could also remember being young and gay and how much it would have meant to him to have a role model outside his books and holotapes. Tempest was the minor local celebrity Berto had fixated on. Him and half the queer youth in the greater Vegas area, no doubt.

No details, then, but Arcade could throw him a small bone. He stopped, just outside the blinding security lights that guarded the gate, and turned to face Berto. "With Tempest, it feels like you're the only man in the world. For a little while." He paused, let the little King digest that, before he continued. "If it's techniques you want, the Followers distribute safer sex literature for all sexualities, free of charge. Just drop by the Fort. They'll set you up."

The lift to the suite couldn't go fast enough for Arcade's tastes. He assumed Berto would have mentioned if Tempest was missing any pieces, but he needed to see for himself that he was all right. He'd been gone so long, and the companion he'd asked for happened to be the only one with medical experience.

The elevator finally dinged, the doors opened, and Arcade rushed through them with his doctor's bag held tight in his hand. "Tempest?" he called.

"I hoped you'd come," Tempest purred. He stepped into view in the doorway to the master bedroom, and Arcade froze. There was just... so much to take in.

Tempest looked hale and whole, his hair fluffy and fresh-washed and his skin glowing. Arcade could see quite a lot of his skin, what with the dress.

It was a slinky black-and-red number, with a slit clear up to _there_. It almost but didn't quite fit Tempest, tight in the waist but loose in the chest so the loose fabric hung down and exposed him nearly to the nipples, the ruffled strap sliding off one shoulder. The sheer fabric hid nothing, pooling softly over his sex and leaving no doubt that he was completely naked beneath it.

He was wearing lipstick, too, deep red to accent his lips' sensuous shape and draw attention to them. As Arcade stared, heat rushing through him, those lips spread into a big smile, and Tempest lifted a worn silk rose to bite between his strong white teeth as he lounged against the doorframe to display himself. One arm above his head, head thrown back, spine arched, exposed leg slipping further out of the slit of the dress with a lacy little garter hugging his muscular thigh.

It was the most beautifully pornographic thing Arcade had ever seen.

Arcade dropped his bag as he stepped in close. He took the rose from Tempest's teeth, and cupped his face between both hands. Tempest's thick lashes fell over his bright eyes as he tipped his face up toward Arcade's. His vivid lips were soft and waxy with the unfamiliar flavor of lipstick, smearing between them, but he kissed the same way he always did. With energy, with enthusiasm, with unabashed _life_. Arcade pulled Tempest close, tugged his exposed leg up around his hip, pet his thigh and his garter and up under the dress to caress the firm muscles of his ass.

They broke apart gasping. The lipstick was smeared, escaping Tempest's lips to mark their kisses. Tempest softly touched Arcade's mouth. "Looks like we're makin' quite the mess."

Arcade groaned and leaned back down to kiss Tempest again, down his neck this time to spread the red of the lipstick further. He rubbed his thumb over Tempest's bottom lip, drawing a streak across his cheek from it—marking him, debauched and gorgeous. Tempest moaned and opened his mouth, turning to take Arcade's thumb in and suck it with expert skill and attention.

For his part, Arcade had made it down to Tempest's chest. He nosed the loose dress away, pushing it down to get to Tempest's nipples. Sucking and biting them had Tempest writhing and making hungry noises around his thumb. Tempest was hard, the front of the dress tented. Arcade touched him lightly through the sheer fabric, teasing, and with a jolt realized that Tempest was not as exposed as he'd assumed would be the case. Tempest was already wearing a condom.

"Well, now. Getting ahead of ourselves, are we?" he teased.

Tempest laughed breathlessly, lifting himself onto his tiptoes to push into Arcade's hand. "You can't blame a man for livin' in hope!"

Arcade didn't have the heart or the will to tease him any further. He went to his knees, and put his mouth to better use beneath the discreet cover of Tempest's skirt. Tempest's hands were in his hair, Tempest's thighs shaking, Tempest's voice crying his name above him.

Perfect, and here, and _safe_.

It was quite some time later that they came to rest on Tempest's big bed, bare and mostly cleaned of lipstick. Arcade was on his back, limp and happy, and Tempest was cuddled up to his side, head resting on Arcade's chest.

Arcade slowly stroked Tempest's back, feeling warm and close and content.

"I need to get out of the Mojave," Tempest said, quietly.

"What? _Why_?" Arcade demanded. "If you're in some kind of trouble, I'll help. We'll all help!" He couldn't imagine what kind of scrape Tempest couldn't talk or shoot his way out of—he was far too good at both—but if he needed backup, all he had to do was ask.

"It ain't like that," Tempest soothed, petting Arcade's chest. "There's no trouble, I just need to clear my head, and Vegas ain't the best place for that. Between Mr. House and the NCR, the Legion always pushing, I can't get a breath in sideways."

"So you're leaving?" Arcade couldn't keep the hurt from his voice. "Packing it up and abandoning everyone, just like that?" It stung. "Cut your losses and leave Vegas to its fate, when you could be helping?" Arcade knew he was an idealist, but he'd really thought Tempest was like him. Someone who wanted— _needed_ —to fight for a better world. That was the reason he'd agreed to join him in the first place.

"Not forever!" Tempest sat up to look Arcade in the eye. "I promise I ain't givin' up, I'm just..." he slumped a little, rubbed an eye with the heel of his hand. "I'm tired, pardner. I'm so damn _tired_ of being in the middle. Ever since I put Benny down I feel like one of them... what are they called? Lightning rods. If I leave, things oughta simmer down a mite, and be safer for everyone."

Damn it all, Arcade could see where he was coming from. He didn't like it, but he could follow Tempest's logic. He certainly didn't think it was the right thing to do, but he had to trust that Tempest knew what was best for himself.

"You know, the Followers believe in helping people," Arcade mused. "That's part of what attracted me to them, the desire to make a difference in the world. And they teach everyone who joins that you can't help _anyone_ if you're not taking care of yourself first. Not an easy pill to swallow." He ruffled Tempest's hair, and did his best to smile. "Do what you have to do. Is there any chance I can I get a hint of where you're going and how long you'll be gone this time?"

Tempest smiled back, and the one on Arcade's face felt much more natural in answer. "Just a couple'a months, tops. I'm hoping to join a caravan opening a trade route north, to New Canaan. I _am_ a courier, after all. Finding new roads to walk is what I do best."

"And here I thought it was cocksucking..."

Tempest laughed, bright eyes dancing. "I'll admit I do pride myself on that," he granted, climbing on top of Arcade. "But that ain't what I'm paid for."

Arcade found himself very thoroughly kissed. As that wound down, he flipped them over so he was on top. "How long before you go?" he asked. "I'm not sure the rest of the crew will forgive me if I'm the only one who gets to see you. You had us all scared."

Tempest squeezed Arcade's body between his legs in a hug, holding him close, as he stroked Arcade's face and arms like he was trying to memorize him. "I'll make time for everyone, and I ain't gonna leave you empty handed neither," he promised. "I found a whole mess of tech and research I can't make heads nor tails of in an abandoned bunker out past Nelson. I think it's got somethin' to do with the Sierra Madre legends. It ought to keep you more than busy while I'm gone. Veronica might want to come too."

"You know I like Veronica," Arcade said, carefully. "But fighting the Brotherhood for tech isn't going to end well. In terms of firepower I'm not exactly a heavy-hitter. So unless you would like me to die very rapidly—"

"The tech is for the Followers. She'll understand," Tempest said, giving Arcade another squeeze. "She likes to help people, too, I'm sure you've noticed by now."

It was impossible to disbelieve him, even despite all Arcade knew about the Brotherhood. Not that Tempest had any way to know the Enclave's history with the Brotherhood, or any way to know that it applied to Arcade. Tempest really believed that Veronica wouldn't sell him out to them, and Arcade believed him.

Tempest continued. "Veronica's interest would be more... personal. That is, if she wants to go at all. I don't rightly know if she will. Either way, I ain't gonna send you out unprotected." He gazed up at Arcade, bright and intense, like he was the only person who mattered in the whole world. "Puttin' you in danger is the _last_ thing I want to do."


	11. Follows Chalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've got a question about the Dead Horses," Tempest opened, the way so many of their conversations began, with one or the other of them searching for more information.
> 
> Follows Chalk smiled back. "What can I tell you?"
> 
> "I don't know much about your culture, still. What do you think about men having sex with each other?"

Tempest did _not_ throw himself at the first willing man after his entire caravan was slaughtered. He waited, first. Got his bearings, put his head down, and channeled all his energy into figuring out what needed to be done in Zion.

He found himself alone in a new place, with new people with unfamiliar customs and social mores, but he was adaptable. He was skilled at finding a place for himself no matter where he ended up. He managed, like he always did.

Tempest worked hard and kept himself busy. He did not fuck to forget, this time. Marcus was right. It was a coping mechanism, and he wanted to set it aside for a mite before he decided if he wanted to keep using it. That said, the fact didn't mean he didn't still _want_ to fuck.

Follows Chalk, for example, was a friendly, handsome man. Tempest enjoyed traveling with him. He appreciated Follows Chalk's humor and incisive observations, his steady gun hand against enemies and his gentleness with a lost baby bighorner. He was a man who saw much, curious and happy to share his thoughts. He made a good companion to curb Tempest's loneliness. They had good camaraderie and trust. Of _course_ Tempest wanted to tumble him.

But he waited.

He waited, to be sure he was doing it because he liked Follows Chalk and sex and the idea of combining the two, and not because he was desperate to change how he felt. Not because the long arm of Caesar, which Tempest had hoped to escape for a time, had beat him to Zion and beyond. Not because his new tentative friends were dead. Not because the man responsible for both the fall of New Canaan and the Legion's early military success had brought trouble to the peoples in Zion, and Tempest found himself in the unenviable position of needing to work _with_ him.

Tempest spent a good amount of time in self-reflection. The quiet of creeping through the windswept red rock canyons of Zion was good for it. His pain and his frustrations came and went, but his desire to tumble Follows Chalk remained.

As for what Follows Chalk wanted, Tempest was mostly certain he knew. The early lingering looks could have been curiosity about an outsider, but they didn't end as they got to know each other better. More often than not, in quiet moments, Tempest found himself under Follows Chalk's frank regard. He was wonderfully unselfconscious about being caught looking, and Tempest surely didn't mind being watched by a handsome man. In turn, he didn't feel the need to be coy about the fact that he was looking right back.

It might have been a simple matter of cultural difference, but Tempest was fairly certain Follows Chalk would be open to the possibility. Still, he didn't rush it. He usually got straight to the point, but there was a pleasure to their slow circling, too. Shared looks, quiet jokes and conversation, brief touches in passing. The brush of their shoulders and knees as they crouched and spotted enemies, Follows Chalk's hand on his back as he pointed out landmarks from a lookout peak, the slide of their fingers together as Follows Chalk taught him how to pull the very best rich gooey bites out of fresh-slain radscorpions and mantises.

Eating bugs was nothing new to Tempest, of course, but having them raw was. Follows Chalk devoured them like they were a great delicacy, and Tempest had not been raised to turn his nose up at a host's food. He appreciated the sentiment, that Follows Chalk wanted to share the most choice morsels with him, and ate with gusto. If he ended up riddled with intestinal parasites from the experience, he was sure he and Julie would have a good laugh about it when he returned to New Vegas.

They made a fireless camp, hidden in a turn of the labyrinthine red canyons and with only a small hooded lamp for light, so they had nothing to fear from White Legs for the night. Tempest made a comfortable seat from his bedroll and sat on it as he maintained his guns, and Follows Chalk sat beside him, with one leg tossed carelessly over Tempest's. He smiled when Tempest briefly squeezed his knee.

The Dead Horses were an affectionate bunch, from what Tempest had seen. Young and old, family and friend, they were all cozy with each other. He and Follows Chalk often sat knee to knee or back to back, but this was the first time Follows Chalk had gotten this close to him. Maybe Follows Chalk meant nothing but friendship with the gesture, but it felt to Tempest like an increase in intimacy, and maybe a tentative invitation.

He made sure his guns were all cleaned and in good working order, with Follows Chalk watching his hands the whole while. He set his guns aside, and stretched with a sigh. Follows Chalk's eyes were fixed on him, and followed with hungry fascination when Tempest oh-so-casually rucked the bottom hem of his shirt up to scratch an imaginary itch on his belly.

He put his hand on Follows Chalk's knee, again, and pet lightly down his tattooed shin. Follows Chalk's toes wiggled, though no other part of him did, and Tempest smiled as he made his decision. He _wanted_ Follows Chalk. There was no reason not to try.

"I've got a question about the Dead Horses," Tempest opened, the way so many of their conversations began, with one or the other of them searching for more information.

Follows Chalk smiled back. "What can I tell you?"

"I don't know much about your culture, still. What do you think about men having sex with each other?" If Tempest didn't know Follows Chalk so well, he wouldn't have been so blunt. During their gradually growing closeness over the weeks he'd learned that Follows Chalk preferred direct questions that were easily understood.

Follows Chalk's toes wiggled again. His eyes were very bright, but he shook his head. "...Joshua Graham says that it is not the way of god."

And just when Tempest thought he couldn't like the Burned Man any less. He quirked an eyebrow, dropping his voice low and confidential. "I don't believe I asked for _Joshua's_ opinion, pardner."

Follows Chalk bit his bottom lip, blushing. "I think," he said, hesitating in a way that was very unlike him, before he threw his hands up. "I think, what does it matter? If everyone feels good, then why not? Why should sex be different from playing games or sharing food? Why is it different from any other activity? Why does it matter if it is between only men or women or others instead of a man and a woman? Other than no babies." He shrugged helplessly. "I know it's not the way of civilized men, but nobody gets hurt. It feels good. So what does it matter?"

Tempest laughed softly, chest warm with fondness at Follows Chalk's bold tumble of words. He lightly traced the slightly-raised shape of a tattoo on Follows Chalk's calf, an affectionate caress. "Now, it might not have been the way of the Legion or New Canaan, but you oughta know you're talkin' to a man who's had sex with more men than than I've seen in the whole Dead Horses tribe."

Follows Chalk's eyes went wide. "Hoo," he breathed. He lightly smacked Tempest's arm with the back of his hand. "You're not making a joke on me, _Owslandr_?"

Tempest shook his head, switching to Follows Chalk's language, tone soft. " _No, ahk iss_."

Follows Chalk laughed, scooting a little closer to curl his leg closer to Tempest's. "Really? Do all people from the outside have so much sex? Do—"

"No, no," Tempest broke him off. "I'm a courier, a messenger. We're notorious wanderers, finding new partners anywhere we go."

"What does 'notorious' mean?" Follows Chalk interjected.

"It's like..." Tempest pondered. "Famous, not always in a good way. But as I was sayin', I like to find lovers wherever I wander." He moved his hand, slowly, up to Follows Chalk's knee, and above to lightly stroke his inner thigh. He looked at Follows Chalk from under his lashes. "I was hoping you'd like to be one."

Follows Chalk smiled big, and bigger, and laughed as he leaned in to rub his cheek against Tempest's. " _Lah_ , why not? I want to... ah. I don't know how you would say it? I want to be on top of you and bring you into me. I have thought about it many times."

Tempest turned into the touch, getting closer to him. "The way I'd say it is: you want to be fucked. That you want to ride me." He caught just the edge of Follows Chalk's lips in a soft kiss. "I'd like that," he purred.

"Ride you?" Follows Chalk mused, between soft exploratory little kisses."That is a silly way to say it. But yes, I want to ride you." He began fiddling with Tempest's shirt buttons, nimble fingers slipping inside to touch Tempest's chest.

Tempest arched into the contact, cupping the back of Follows Chalk's head as he moved to deepen the kiss. He felt like he knew Follows Chalk's sense of humor well by now, the kind of wordplay he enjoyed, and couldn't help a soft laugh before he spoke. "You know what they say, pardner. Save a brahmin, ride a courier."

Follows Chalk hesitated, cocked his head to the side, and then let out a big guffaw of a laugh. "Because sometimes traders ride on brahmin! Two meanings!" He quickly moved to straddle Tempest on his bedroll, reaching between them to grab Tempest's half-hard cock, deep brown eyes burning. "I want _this_ kind of riding."

Tempest figured a moan was answer enough, hips rising into the touch of Follows Chalk's hand. His hands wanted to be everywhere on Follows Chalk, his toned belly, his arms, his tattooed thighs as muscular as any courier's. He did make himself let go with one hand, though, and reach into his utility belt for a condom when Follows Chalk began tugging at his belt buckle.

"That is... uh, a con-dom?" Follows Chalk leaned back, abandoning Tempest's belt, curiosity winning out. "Why? You and I can't make babies anyway."

Tempest shook his head quickly. "That ain't the only thing they're good for," he said. The need to educate, to make sure Follows Chalk was making an informed decision, was more important than his own desire to fuck him. "There are some diseases, horrible ones, that can be passed with sex. Especially if you're the one taking it, at least the way I understand it. Now if you're both healthy and don't have sex with anyone else, that's pretty safe. But a man like me? Someone who's fucked his way through entire countries? I'm _dangerous_."

He stroked Follows Chalk's hip, gently, as he tried to find the right words. "Barriers, condoms, they make it much safer, but I'm still a risk. I won't do a damn thing with you or _anyone_ without a condom, but you still have to decide if that's a risk you want to take."

"Hoo," Follows Chalk's eyes were wide. "There are many things I don't know of the world. But with a condom it's pretty safe, ya?"

"If you use 'em right, and I do," Tempest said. He kept his voice soft. "I like you too much to hurt you."

Follows Chalk leaned back in and kissed him, smiling. "Yes," he decided, stripping out of his bandoleer to leave his upper body bared to Tempest's appreciative eyes. "Safer than tracking White Legs or hunting Yao Guai, right? And more fun. So let's. Show me how to use a condom. Does it feel very different?"

"It feels just about the same." Tempest had been young and reckless enough, once upon a time, to know the difference. "You'll want plenty of lube either way." Luckily, he had a healthy stock of that in his pack, and handed the bottle to Follows Chalk. He made quick work of his own shirt and tugged his pants and boxers down far enough to make sex comfortable for them both. His cock was plenty hard enough to demonstrate applying a condom to, with Follows Chalk straddling him and eating him up with hungry eyes.

He slicked himself with a healthy amount of lube and quirked an eyebrow at Follows Chalk. "Ready when you are, pardner."

"I'm ready now." Follows Chalk set aside his loin cloth, hitched up his thick leather skirt slightly, and moved up Tempest's body.

"Sure you don't need any preparation?" Tempest asked, double checking but making no effort to stop Follows Chalk from taking control.

"No?" Follows Chalk took hold of Tempest's cock at the base. He lined it up with his entrance and worked his way onto it in tiny thrusts that took no more than the head of it past the tight-squeezing muscles of his ass, again and again. "You are not very big," he said, and dropped more of his weight on Tempest to take him deeper with a rough moan.

Tempest couldn't help his laugh, even through his own moaning as he rocked into the pace Follows Chalk set. "I don't know how it is with the Dead Horses, but a fair portion men from the outside world would take offense at their cock being called 'small'."

"Oh, the Dead Horses don't like it either." Follows Chalk made a face like he was trying to look abashed, but he ground all the way down on Tempest's cock and he couldn't help the shudder of pleasure that passed through him. "I don't know why it bothers them if it's true. Small penises are plenty nice. But they always say I talk too much. Shut up, Follows Chalk. Can't you stop asking questions for even one minute?"

"Never stop." Tempest stroked every part of Follows Chalk he could reach as he was ridden. " _Never_ stop asking questions. Keep your curiosity."

Follows Chalk grinned and kissed him, and that was a far better use for both of their mouths. They kissed deep in moments broken with shuddering gasps and moans. Tempest adored every moment of it, feeling Follows Chalk squeeze on him, hearing his sounds, driving into the soft heat of him and knowing that he was giving his friend the pleasure he wanted.

When Follows Chalk found an angle to ride Tempest that he _really_ liked and threw his head back, abandoning himself to _feeling_ it, Tempest leaned in to lick his chest, tasting the faint salt of his skin and the different textures of the triangle tattoos in lines across his heart.

"I would mark you, too, as you've earned," Follows Chalk whispered to him, burning hot. "I would see you in scout's ink."

"Yeah?" Tempest urged, tracing Follows Chalk's own tattoos.

"Mm." Follows Chalk scraped the edge of his thumbnail over Tempest's eyebrow, hard enough to sting, but in the moment nothing hurt. "Here, for sniper eyes." His bicep, back and forth in a crosshatch. "Your hunts." Down his chest, a hard rake with four fingers. "Your enemy kills." Low on his belly, the deep scrape of a thumbnail. "Your lovers."

Tempest gasped, shaking, hands clenching on Follows Chalk's hips. "Fuck, pardner, I can't... I ain't gonna last!" It was too good, too much, the touch and the talk combined with how fast Follows Chalk was fucking himself.

"Okay." Follows Chalk grabbed Tempest's right hand, guiding it beneath his skirt, and Tempest eagerly took hold of his cock to stroke along with his rise and fall. "Ah, _goot_!" His body tightened, corded muscles standing out as he panted. He smacked a hand across his mouth, muffling the sharp sounds he made as he came, cock jumping in Tempest's hand to fill it with the wet of his semen.

Tempest crushed his face against Follows Chalk's chest and stopped trying to hold back. He fucked hard into the tight-spasming clench of Follows Chalk's ass and came in trembling ecstasy.

Follows Chalk's arms wrapped around him, holding him through it, and he murmured something into Tempest's hair that he couldn't quite make out. They just breathed together, coming down from the high, and then Tempest tapped Follows Chalk's thigh and gripped the base of the condom as Follows Chalk climbed off him.

Of course Follows Chalk was curious about the proper disposal of a used condom, and Tempest did his best to answer all his questions as he tied it off and then got to his cleanup. He could afford to pour some drinking water on his cleanup rag to wipe down with. A man could get spoiled with all the clean water in Zion.

"You're right, it did not feel very much different," Follows Chalk said, as he got his minimal clothes back on. "Not for me. Only cleaning up is easier. Is it different, wearing a condom? It must be."

"It is, a bit," Tempest said. "Maybe next time you can wear one, and I'll show you what I like to do with my mouth."

Follows Chalk brightened, smiling wide. "You like to... what was it called... gifting heads?"

"Giving head, or going down," Tempest listed for him. " _Cocksucking_ 's my favorite. And I don't care who says it ain't _civilized_."

That line was a bit too far, maybe, decidedly undiplomatic. Follows Chalk was immediately curious, too sharp not to question and far too good at putting patterns together. "Joshua Graham," he said, cocking his head to the side and watching Tempest. "He likes you, and you make him think you like him, but you don't like him. Why?"

"It's a difference of philosophy," Tempest said, lightly. "After the things the Legion has done... I can't say I forgive a man who was complicit. I ain't sure he learned a damn thing when they burned him and threw him out, either."

"He was prouder, crueler, before," Follows Chalk said, but hesitantly. "I was pretty young, though."

Wasn't that a thought, a Joshua Graham even prouder than he still was. The cruelty, obviously, was a given. The topic was not something Tempest wanted to debate, anyway. "He wants the Dead Horses to be like the Legion," he said, as he finished getting his clothes back in order. He dusted a bit of stray sand off his bedroll and reached for Follows Chalk, pulling him closer to roll into blankets, beneath Tempest. He surely liked to have him there. "I say, what's wrong with being Dead Horses? I've seen a lot more of the world than most, and believe me, you ain't any more or less civilized than anyone else."

Follows Chalk flushed, pleased and squirming to comfort in Tempest's arms.

"But enough about Joshua." Tempest rubbed his nose against Follows Chalk's, smiling down at him and nothing else in the whole world. "How about you teach me how to tell you how handsome you are?"

Follows Chalk laughed, and kissed Tempest, and set to teaching him more vocabulary in the Dead Horses language.

Tempest was getting better at understanding and speaking the language. He always was a quick study, when he put his mind to learning something, but somewhere in the back of his mind he was calculating. Once the White Legs were driven out of Zion, which he agreed should and must happen, would it be better or worse if Joshua Graham took a high-caliber bullet to the head?

Zion was, as the long-dead survivalist whose journals he'd found said, a sniper's paradise. With a silenced rifle and a thorough knowledge of the caves the Dead Horses and Sorrows would not enter, a gunman of Tempest's skill could get away with it easily, and leave the valley with no one the wiser. Follows Chalk might guess who was at fault, but Tempest had thrown better trackers off his trail in his day.

If Tempest took their choice of leader away from the Dead Horses, who could themselves have easily overthrown Joshua if they had the desire to, was he any better than the man who wanted to change them in the first place?

But there was time still to decide, and Tempest turned his attention over to the beautiful man in his arms.


	12. Interlude - The Winds of Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempest was, in a roundabout way, pumping everyone for information on the Legion and the NCR and Mr. House—all the main players. Arcade was sure none of the people he talked to thought they'd been interrogated, Tempest was that smooth at steering a conversation. Arcade just happened to be a research scientist. Finding patterns was what he did.

Tempest came back to New Vegas with a battered old duraframe eyebot floating behind him—which, after a lifetime of hiding his involvement with the Enclave, was the last thing Arcade wanted to be seen wandering around with. Tempest couldn't be convinced to leave it behind, though. He named it ED-E and brought it everywhere with him, citing enhanced sensors as useful to avoid ambush and an extra energy weapon at his back to be good in a fight. Arcade knew how useful a duraframe could be, of course, but that didn't mean he had to like the security risk to himself that ED-E represented.

That it was _Tempest_ who had ED-E was the only saving grace—Tempest, whom everyone knew and loved. Tempest wasn't suspected of anything but being charming, helpful, an easy lay, and a good shot. Everyone knew ED-E was Tempest's. Arcade tried not to let his own fear get in the way of Tempest keeping himself safe.

Tempest didn't like being alone, and coming back from the north he seemed to hate it more than ever. ED-E helped.

An eyebot wasn't the only change that Arcade noticed. Arcade wasn't with Tempest all the time. He was very busy with the findings from the abandoned bunker—which as it turned out was, in fact, associated with the Sierra Madre—and with the carefully chronicled folk medicine Tempest had brought back from the tribals up north. There were some very promising leads with glowing mushrooms and datura that meant Arcade was actually making progress with his research.

Still, he made time to travel with Tempest, and he was sure of what he was seeing. Tempest was, in a roundabout way, pumping _everyone_ for information on the Legion and the NCR and Mr. House—all the main players. Arcade was sure none of the people he talked to thought they'd been interrogated, Tempest was that smooth at steering a conversation. Arcade just happened to be a research scientist. Finding patterns was what he _did_.

Tempest had left the Mojave running from the near-certainty of war. It didn't seem like he was _running_ , anymore. He wasn't trying to stay uninvolved, while making it look like he was—a delicate dance.

Arcade was there when Tempest lingered over mesquite coffee for hours with Julie Farkas and Beatrix Russell, casually shooting the breeze and incidentally covering all relevant political topics. He caught the tail end of the evening Tempest spent cuddling with Raul Tejada on the couch in the Lucky 38, sharing a bottle of tequila and getting Raul to share all his stories about Arizona and the Legion. He caught bits and pieces of Tempest talking to Cass and Boone and Veronica about their perspectives on Vegas and the NCR.

Arcade was the companion Tempest chose to bring with him to McCarran to talk to that asshole Dr. Hildern. Tempest made friendly, like he always did, and Hildern went on his self-righteous spiel treating people as numbers. Arcade had some things to say about _that_ , and Tempest soaked those up too. He was a good listener, always knew the right thing to say, and Arcade said more than he'd meant to. He stopped himself, before he went too far and said anything he'd regret. They were alone, for a value of 'alone' that included ED-E floating along with them, keeping an eye out for stray Fiends as they made their way back toward Freeside.

Tempest looked up at him, raising his eyebrows expectantly at Arcade's sudden silence.

"You're putting something together," Arcade said. "Forgive me for my suspicions, but you're obviously been gathering information."

Tempest smiled up at him, dusty little cowboy glittering like diamond grit. "I knew I liked you for so much more than your looks," he purred. Which wasn't, really, a confirmation one way or another. Arcade would have pressed, if ED-E hadn't beeped to signal an enemy. Tempest raised a hand for silence and dropped to a crouch, swinging his beloved rifle _Paciencia_ into his hands.

By the time they'd made it back to New Vegas, the time for the conversation was past.

Tempest invited Arcade on a date to the Tops to see the new acts, and only the fact that he'd oh-so-casually suggested that ED-E help Beatrix with security for the Fort while they were gone, meaning that they really would be alone, was any hint that it wasn't _just_ a date. Curiosity piqued, Arcade agreed.

Odd, to be in the casino Tempest had famously killed the proprietor of. The Chairmen welcomed him in with forced cheer and wide eyes, and Tempest handed over _Paciencia_ , but not the .45 auto pistol holstered all but invisibly at the small of his back. It was quite a bit bigger than the little .22 he'd used to keep as a holdout, but if anyone noticed they didn't quite dare call him on it.

They did go see the shows. A singer who played up the 'lonesome drifter' stereotype, the ghoulish insult comic who at least wasn't homophobic with his unfunny material, and a human comedian who wasn't as clever as he thought he was. The only thing that made it tolerable was Tempest playing footsie and otherwise being visibly affectionate with him. Tempest was always an affectionate man, but he'd never really seemed the type to want to posture with a hot date on his arm. Not to say that Arcade's ego wasn't enjoying it.

The next act was a singer, a handsome man who was a real crooner. Arcade was actually enjoying him, but Tempest moved even closer, kissed him, and then _sotto voce_ but loud enough for their nosy neighbor to overhear, suggested they head somewhere more private.

Whether it was a subterfuge or not, Arcade was intrigued. He agreed, and Tempest led him out of the theater by the hand, and kissed him by the elevators while they waited for the doors to open. Once they were in the elevator, though, he was all bright-eyes and business.

"Stick to me," he said, adjusting his gun for easy access. "If we stay quiet, and close to the wall, no one will be any the wiser."

"I'll... do my best," Arcade said, not entirely sure it was going to work.

"I know stealth ain't your thing," Tempest said. "That's why we went through the whole song and dance. Not that I weren't _enjoying_ flirting with you. If we're caught, all you've gotta do is shove me against a wall and put your hand down my pants. Perfect alibi."

"Will that really work?"

"Sure thing." Tempest grinned, bright and incorrigible. "Everyone knows what I'm like with a handsome man."

He was depending on his fucking reputation—that meant quite literally, his reputation for fucking. It was clever, a tool at his disposal that he wasn't even the tiniest bit afraid to leverage. It was a rock-solid and well documented reputation, and utterly real. Even the Chairmen having proof that Tempest could be dangerous, would they really think anything of it if they found Tempest making out with his date someplace he wasn't supposed to be?

Arcade kissed him. The elevator stopped. Tempest led Arcade out at a slow creep along the shadowed wall. They made it to a big double-door, which Tempest unlocked with a worn looking key. There was a very nice suite beyond—almost as nice as the Lucky 38—but Tempest led Arcade right through it. Through the bathroom with a hole cut in the wall, and into a secret space beyond filled with computer banks and a very strange Securitron.

Tempest started talking, asking questions of 'Yes Man', and all at once the picture came together. It was dizzying, all together, an option Arcade hadn't even realized was possible. Yes Man answered all the questions Tempest put to him, and Arcade's too when he pulled his thoughts together enough to ask them, being programmed with no other option.

Arcade's head was still spinning when Tempest led him out of Yes Man's room and back into the main room of the suite. Tempest sat on the big bed and looked up at him, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"This is... big," Arcade said. An understatement.

"It's an option," Tempest said. His face was set, shine as hard and dangerous as gunmetal. "One of several I'm in the process of weighing. I'd appreciate you keeping it to yourself, for the time being. No one else hears of this. Not even our friends, not Julie or _anyone_."

"Of course. I'm not much of a people person, as I've told you." Arcade promised. As if he didn't have a lifetime of experience hiding much bigger secrets. "This won't be a problem. But... Why me?"

"Because I think you're most likely right. Keeping Vegas independent is what's best for everyone. The NCR ain't _bad_ , but I don't think they're best for the people of the Mojave. And Mr. House either don't know or don't _care_ about anything outside the Strip."

"A wholesale takeover of Vegas..." Arcade trailed off, the scope of it too big. "How did you set this up?"

"It weren't me. This was that bastard Benny's plan, his place." Tempest touched the scar above his eye, traced it back across his temple. "The reason he put me in a shallow grave. Didn't work out so well for him."

"God," Arcade didn't know what to say, what comfort he could give.

Tempest scooted back further on the bed, bounced a bit with his legs spread, smile just a little too stiff. "Want to fuck in his bed?"

"Do _you_?"

Tempest stilled, and his shoulders slumped a bit as he shook his head. "I can't rightly say I do." He sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. "Sorry, Arcade. I'm ready to hit the road. I just thought you'd like to know what I've been workin' on."

"I do." Arcade did appreciate it, so much. Tempest trusted _him_ with this, above any of his other companions. He wanted to share back, to trust Tempest with his past. The Enclave remnants could help secure a truly independent and democratic Vegas. The words stuck in his throat, though. It wasn't that he didn't trust Tempest, it was just he'd hidden and deflected for so long, he needed more time to brace himself to share. It wasn't a thing he could do on a whim.

Lovers might make poor confidants, but Tempest was so much more than just a lover.

Arcade followed Tempest back out of Benny's suite, back to the elevators unseen. The elevator screeched and groaned and made other uncomfortable sounds as it slowly brought them back to the ground floor.

"What changed?" Arcade asked, just him and Tempest stuck in an elevator for long minutes. He wouldn't be himself without his curiosity. He'd tried to temper it, asking questions about other people often led them to asking questions about _him_ that he couldn't answer, but he had to know. "What happened up north that made you decide to get involved?"

Tempest was quiet for a moment, eyes unfocused looking past Arcade. "The Legion happened," he said, quiet and cold. The elevator rattled to a stop, and Tempest grabbed Arcade so they were kissing when the door opened. The door very nearly closed again, but Tempest broke away to stop it with his hand, laughing and sparkling like he had nothing on his mind but Arcade.

He swaggered through the Tops like the cat who got the cream, vaguely disheveled and giving Arcade moon-eyes the whole way. He looked like a man who'd just gotten away with having sex somewhere he shouldn't have, and Arcade blushed at the knowing and exasperated looks people were giving the pair of them. It only added realism to the charade.

If anyone was going to get away with such sweeping changes to the political landscape of the Mojave with no one the wiser, it was definitely Tempest.

Arcade followed him out onto the Strip with a little seedling of hope sprouting to life in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There appears to have been some confusion, so I would like to state for the record that I am not now nor will I ever take requests for this fic. If you _just have_ to see some pairing or scenario or other, I cordially invite you to _write your own damn fic_.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts, what you thought of what I've written and any speculation you have about where the story's going, but backseat driving is not appreciated. This is _my_ tour bus, and I already know exactly which cliff I'm driving it off of.
> 
> Enjoy the ride!  
> <3  
> TS


	13. Craig Boone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The devil smiled, and Boone followed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for minor character deaths and suicidal ideation pulled directly from canon  
> and also, like, _a lot_ of murder
> 
> Any way you look at it, the Courier is fucking _terrifying_.

No one saw more of Tempest than Boone.

Sure, Tempest made friends everywhere, and sure, he traveled with some of them sometimes, but more often than not he chose to bring Boone along. That was fine as far as Boone was concerned. They had the same policy when it came to the Legion. That policy being: shoot on sight.

Boone was good. He was _damn_ good, but Tempest was something else. Boone hated the Legion and did his best to kill them, and the feeling was mutual. Boone was deadly; Tempest was the god-damned Grim Reaper, silent death that mowed Legionaries down unawares. Tempest's body count rivaled Boone's and the Legion didn't even know he existed.

They never saw him, and he never left survivors to spread so much as a rumor of him.

Boone hadn't expected he'd meet anyone who could match him with a rifle outside of First Recon. Tempest obviously hadn't been trained by the NCR, or by any faction Boone knew of. Most really good modern gunners had some basics in common with the the old world's American Army, even far-flung tribals, but Tempest's methods were unfamiliar. He wasn't your run of the mill wastelander, though. He was trained. What he aimed at, he hit. When he found a hide, even Boone couldn't spot him.

As a courier, Tempest could maintain a blistering pace for hours across the brutal desert, but being fast was far from the only weapon in his arsenal. A high-level sniper's skill wasn't normal for a courier, but Boone didn't ask him any questions, and Tempest didn't ask any of him.

Tempest might be chatty around other people, but he and Boone didn't need to talk to be effective. There was some part of Boone's mind that griped about op-sec when he was teaching Tempest the NCR's hand sign, but he ignored it. The army didn't own him anymore, and it was damn useful to be able to communicate in silence. Tempest picked it up fast, and taught Boone a few of his own, and soon they were a well-oiled machine. "Enemies there. Take the shot. Time to move. Got you covered." They had it down. Tempest trusted him, and he trusted Tempest.

They were a tiny, lightweight unit, and more effective than any Boone had been a part of before. Just working with Tempest, spotting for him, and absorbing his methods, Boone could tell he was getting better too at stealth and distance shots.

They ranged all over the front, more mobile and flexible than any official unit could be, strengthening the NCR's lines everywhere they went. They weren't bogged down by rule and procedure, by orders from people miles from the field. They could _help_ , where individual camps couldn't spare manpower to run messages or supplies. And they could hunt the Legion.

They cleared out Legion camps and raiding parties, anywhere they were found West of the river. Any time Tempest caught rumor of Legion activity, his eyes would meet Boone's, and they'd set out. They cleared out Nelson in a single night, sniping off every last Legionary and setting free the tortured soldiers. Tempest didn't even stick around beyond making sure they made it to the NCR guard post—melting into the dark to disappear without so much as giving his name to claim credit. They emptied Cottonwood Cove the same way, and after they freed the slaves they dumped radioactive waste barrels into the cove to poison any Legionaries who tried to use it again.

It was... good. _Cathartic_ , that was the fancy word for it, but beyond painful at the same time. Tempest didn't seem to know any limits. He had a variety of guns, for a variety of uses, and he never ran out of bullets for them. He had an eye for salvage wherever he wandered, and never ran out of caps to buy ammunition.

Tempest and anyone who was lucky enough to travel with him was always well supplied. He'd never found himself with a single bullet and an impossible choice.

Boone and Tempest didn't need to talk to be effective, but when Boone _did_ talk—simple, painful sentences over a small campfire—Tempest listened. He didn't condemn Boone for what he'd done. Didn't try and absolve him of it, either.

"I think I understand why you'd make that choice," he said, simply.

"What would you have done?" Boone asked, when it was clear that Tempest wasn't going to say any more on the subject.

Tempest thought on that, chewing a bit of gecko gristle before he spit it out into the fire. "I ain't you," he finally said. "My skills ain't yours, and your experience ain't mine. I can't say what I'd do if I weren't me." And then in a bit, with his hand resting briefly on Boone's shoulder, "I've got the first watch. Rest up, pardner."

Understanding without sympathy, that's what they shared.

Boone was on borrowed time. He'd taken out a debt, and he wasn't done paying it. He knew that, sure as the Mojave sun burned. He had bad things coming to him, doomed and dooming anyone who got close. He told Tempest upfront, but he didn't seem to mind. Boone was just taking one last run at the Legion, even if it was turning out to be a much longer one than he'd expected to have.

Who better to have at your side on a death run than the Grim Reaper?

He was a smiling devil, Tempest. How a man that sharp and deadly could seem so cheerful and harmless was a mystery to Boone. He walked into a town and immediately put everyone at their ease. He crept up on a raider camp and put them all down just as easy.

It seemed like a trick, at first. A mask. Boone thought at first that Tempest was an amazing actor, that he could make so many people think he was something he wasn't. Boone thought, at first, that he was the only one who saw the real Tempest. The longer Boone traveled with him, though, the more he realized that his sociable face wasn't an act, it was just another side of him. Like a die, showing a new face when it was rolled, was still the same die.

When he was with First Recon, Boone saw partners divy out parts to play according to their natural tendencies. Even with Ma—with his former partner, Boone had been the quiet responsible one, and his partner was the chatty charming one. They'd been good team with a little something for everyone. They played it up and made it work for them, both while on duty and out on the town on leave, for as long as it lasted.

Tempest was both parts of the act all on his own.

Tempest was the merciless gunman. Tempest was the charming philanthropist eager to lend a hand. Smiling devil. Everyone saw the smile. No one, ever, saw the devil coming.

Reconciling both parts wasn't easy. Boone preferred things simple, and Tempest wasn't a simple man. Tempest made himself look harmless, made people like him, and made friends everywhere. It took Boone a while to realize that the flirting was real, too, and that Tempest really was having that much sex. That the playboy act wasn't an act. At all.

See, he usually got Boone out of the way first. Made sure Boone had everything he needed to be comfortable: space, privacy, food, caps—Tempest was generous with everything he had—and then disappeared with the man of the hour. Tempest wasn't all that discreet, once Boone realized what he was doing.

It was dangerous, wandering off alone with unknown men. Good way to get jumped. But then again, they all underestimated Tempest. They knew the laughing man, not the devil on the other side of him. If anyone could keep the upper hand if a partner turned on him, it would be Tempest. Boone had to trust that. It wasn't like he was in any position to _stop_ Tempest. They didn't work because they got in each other's way.

Once he'd learned how to pick them out, Boone saw Tempest's lovers everywhere. And not just handsome men like Dr. Gannon, though Tempest did, in fact, pick up handsome men very easily. Young men. Old men. Even Ghouls and Robots and (Boone didn't want to believe it but it seemed like probably) a Super Mutant. Boone couldn't figure out any particular type of person Tempest went for, besides just male and willing to say yes. There were a lot of towns and settlement they'd pass through that Tempest had a warm bed to visit.

Boone didn't judge anyone for their pleasures, as plentiful as Tempest's pleasures seemed to be. The only really uncomfortable bit was when people assumed that Boone was in on it. He could live without people sighing about how nice it must be to travel with 'that sweet piece of ass' or 'the best little cocksucker in the Mojave'. Boone usually managed to shut that down with a glare or a few short words. He wasn't in on it. He just happened to work well together with a man who liked sex.

He didn't know why Tempest was the way he was, and he didn't pry to try and find out. It wasn't necessary to their work for him to understand. The closest Tempest had ever came to explaining himself was an airily philosophical, "At the end of the day, don't we all want somebody to smack our ass and call us pretty?"

In the army, Boone had met more than his share of guys who bragged about their conquests, gathered them up like notches on a belt. Most of them were full of hot air, and the few braggarts who did get lucky, their partners didn't tend to want anything to do with them afterward. They only cared about getting their dick wet, not if the lady involved was having a good time. Tempest's lovers, almost universally, seemed eager for another go round when he drifted back through.

Clearly he gave them something worth coming back for.

Tempest would go with a man and come back bright-eyed and bruise-lipped, tan cheeks flushed warm, but he never bragged.

Early on, one of the first partners Boone knew about for certain was in Goodsprings. Easy Pete, a gruff wrinkled bighorner herder. Tempest was charming the whole town in the Prospector Saloon, and Easy Pete grabbed hold of Tempest on his way past and pulled him into his lap. Tempest laughed, kissed Pete's cheek, and made every sign of being very happy to stay there all evening. That night, Tempest bedded down at Easy Pete's place while Boone stayed at the gas station.

"Easy Pete?" Boone asked, the next day as they were leaving. It hadn't made sense to him.

Tempest had smiled wide, even as he said, "Now, a gentleman don't kiss and tell." Which was, any way you thought of it, a confirmation without any details. He led Boone out of town with a bounce in his step, spirits high. In the graveyard just out of town he showed Boone the shallow hole he'd been dug out of, and described being shot and left for dead just as cheerfully. Smiling devil.

They didn't need to talk to be effective, but Boone listened when Tempest talked just like Tempest listened when he did. They could share that much.

The only big flashy kill to Tempest's name was the man who'd almost killed him first. That was the closest the rest of the world got to seeing Tempest's dangerous side.

He'd never hidden that side of himself from Boone. He hadn't blinked when Boone asked his help with revenge, hadn't flinched when he led Jeannie May out in front of the dinosaur with Boone's hat on his head to mark her as the culprit, hadn't reacted at all when Boone took the shot. Most people cared when they saw death. Most people were nervous, leading someone to die. Tempest was impervious, hard as steel.

When Boone said that all he wanted anymore was to kill Legionaries, Tempest said they'd kill more together. That was the agreement their association was based on, and it was rock solid.

The devil smiled, and Boone followed behind him.

Eventually Boone did ask about Tempest's lovers. He'd laid his whole soul out in front of Tempest, in broken bits and pieces, over the months. He thought he could ask one thing.

They'd been back to Novac, for the first time in a long time, and it was just the same and empty and different. He didn't think Tempest had one of his lovers in Novac. None of the farmers or the regular traders treated him as anything but a friend. He didn't flirt with Cliff Briscoe or Mann—the sniper, both handsome men. No. He went for Old Ranger Andy, and Boone really did think it was just that Andy was trying to teach Tempest some of the basics of hand-to-hand. He was a tough old drill master, and he'd trained a lot of people in town.

Even knowing Tempest, knowing what he was like, Boone thought that. Only, when Tempest left Andy's bungalow, Andy grabbed him back at the door and kissed him.

The angle was bad for most people to see, but Boone wasn't most people. He was sitting out on the roof at the front of the hotel, keeping watch. Ranger Andy bent Tempest backward with the force of his kiss, one hand braced on the doorframe to keep them upright despite his bad leg. Tempest clearly trusted his balance to Andy, yielding in a big showy kiss of the kind you really only saw in old-world movie holotapes.

Ranger Andy chuckled when he finally straightened up and set Tempest free with a swat to his ass. Tempest left him with a caress to the arm and a smile.

Boone climbed down from the roof to join Tempest, and Ranger Andy limped out with his cane and fixed him with his deep brown eyes—no nonsense in his face. "You looking after him out there, soldier?" he asked.

"Yes, sir." Neither of them were enlisted anymore, but the instinct was too deeply ingrained. Boone couldn't _not_ answer like a soldier when Andy treated him like one.

Ranger Andy nodded. "Glad to hear it. He's one of the good ones," he said.

Boone nodded back, and followed Tempest out of Novac. He waited until they were well away before he managed to voice his question. "Why him?"

"Why not? It strokes both our egos."

Boone didn't ask any following questions, but Tempest must have seen them on his face and took mercy to explain further.

"He gets to have a hot young thing worshiping his cock. I get to _be_ the hot young thing turnin' a tough ranger into a trembling mess of pleasure. We've got that—" he hesitated, then snapped his fingers. " _Synergy_ , at's the word. We both get somethin' we like from it."

They walked on in silence through the dusty desert, following the paths through the Mojave Tempest knew so well.

He said it so easily. Maybe it _was_ so easy to Tempest, taking lovers wherever. It had always been difficult for Boone, a careful approach that more often than not led to nothing. Tempest went after men with no rhyme or reason that Boone could put together, and with high success. There wasn't _anything_ that seemed to be a dealbreaker to Tempest, but he'd never...

"You never... asked me." Boone wished he could take the words back the instant they were out in the air between them. He knew damn well he wasn't due an explanation from anyone for their lack of desire to bed him. He didn't want to know what was so wrong with _him_ that a man who'd fuck ghouls and robots wouldn't take him. He didn't even know if he _wanted_ anyone to want him, much less a man like Tempest.

Tempest looked over at him, a calm stone in the center of the crashing water. "Would you have told me 'yes' if I had?"

"No." Probably not. Boone _hoped_ not.

Tempest made a 'there you have it' sort of gesture. They traveled in silence almost all the time, but it felt tense and uncomfortable now, until Tempest broke it. "You're in mourning, pardner," he said, quietly. "It wouldn't be right. I figure I can trust you to tell me if that ever changes."

With that, the topic was placed entirely in Boone's hands, and he was determined to drop it, leave it behind, and never revisit it again so long as he lived.

The men Tempest had sex with had no idea what the other side of him was.

 _Boone_ knew.

Sleeping back-to-back with the Death was one thing. Sleeping with him was entirely another.

Boone did take Tempest to Bitter Springs eventually, back to the source of his nightmares, and the beginning of the end for him. Try and set his demons to rest, maybe. Tempest went out of his way to come with him, listened to him when he talked, and when a Legion raiding party came for the refugee camp in the night, Tempest didn't run. He climbed the hill, switching his favorite bolt-action rifle ( _Pas—_ something or whatever it was called) for a faster-loading sniper rifle. They worked together as a team, taking out as many of the Legionaries as they could before they got to the camp. And when they got too close to the camp, and Boone couldn't handle watching from a distance, he went to join the melee. He flashed the "moving in" hand sign on automatic, not because he was thinking about communicating. Tempest threw back one he almost didn't see and hadn't been looking for.

"Got you covered"

Boone didn't expect to live. It made sense for everything to end where it began. His time had finally come, his debt come due. He'd taken more than his fair share of Legionaries with him, and that was enough for him.

He _didn't_ die, though.

Boone ran into the line of fire, and every Legionary that raised a weapon against him died. Either by his own gun, supplied with more bullets than he'd run out of in a whole month, by the few NCR soldiers stationed in Bitter Springs, or by silent shot after shot out of the dark. Tempest made head shot, after head shot, after head shot, and then there was just one last Legion mutt baying confused in the center of camp. And then it was dead, too.

Boone stood unscathed in the center of the carnage. There were cries from the injured and the frightened, Captain Giles barking orders to her soldiers to make a sweep for stragglers. Boone didn't think it was done, knew it _couldn't_ be because he was still breathing—until the unassuming figure of Tempest melted out of the dark. He wouldn't have done that if there were any Legionaries left to see him.

"All right, pardner?" Tempest asked, reloading his rifle as he walked.

"Thought my time had come." Boone's voice sounded far away, even to him. "I was ready for it. For a minute there everything made sense."

Tempest's hands ran through their check: bullet, lever, safety off and on, and he swung his rifle onto his back. When the he looked up, his glasses were full of fire, reflecting its light in dancing flame. "I weren't about to lose you," the Grim Reaper said, like life and death were that easy for him to choose.

He came closer, though, and then he was just a little man in a worn duster. "C'mon," Tempest said. "There's people to help."

There was work to do, and Boone could focus on that: the injured to stabilize and get to the med tent, the frightened to comfort with how unlikely it was for the Legion to send another raiding party. Giles had the soldiers under her command decently organized, at least, and Boone stayed out of her way. Tempest offered the pick of his medical supplies to Lieutenant Markland, to help treat the injured.

They did good there. Good work. And then they left, as the sun was rising and Boone couldn't stand to be in the middle of the battle ground any more, not when he could see it and remember what it had been. What he'd done there.

Tempest didn't take them too far, set up a little dry camp far enough away from Bitter Springs that it wasn't a reminder. Tempest didn't push him, the way he'd never pushed for Boone to share anything. He just listened to Boone's muddled confusion and confession. Life wasn't done punishing him for his mistakes yet, and he wasn't sure how much more he could take.

They'd ended up sitting back to back, somehow. It was easier to talk, knowing that Tempest couldn't see his face, but also knowing the best gunman in the Mojave had his six.

"I could feel the end coming," Boone said. "I was ready."

"I ain't losing you." Tempest's voice was hard. His back pushed against Boone's, firm and warm. "I ain't gonna let you die, Boone."

Boone laughed, dry and hoarse, because... because he didn't know how to cry. His eyes burned and his throat ached but his body wouldn't cry. Not even for Carla, had he been able to cry. "Hell of a thing, having someone like you looking out for me. But there are some things nobody can stop. I thought for sure that's what we'd finally come up against today. It would've made sense for things to end here. But now... I'm still waiting."

He was a sniper, a breed with patience built into his bones, but he didn't know how long he could keep waiting.

"Ain't nobody judging or punishing you, pardner." Tempest tipped his head back, behind Boone, so his the backs of their heads were pressed together too—the sleek strands of Tempest's hair smooth and soft against Boone's shaved scalp. "Life's nothin' but a game of chance. Things just _happen_ , ain't no higher reason."

"If that's how it is, there's not a lot of comfort in knowing it."

"No," Tempest agreed, and he sighed. "There ain't a soul alive who don't have regrets. You can't take back what you've done, but you can use it. Set yourself on a better path. You and me, you can't say we haven't done good things out here."

"A few less Legion raiding parties running loose now. Never a bad thing."

"You dyin' won't solve anything. You can't help a damn soul if you're dead."

Boone pulled his beret off, rubbed his face and head with both hands before he leaned his head against Tempest's again. "You got a point. There's still some things I can do before all this is over."

Tempest made a pleased sound behind him. He rocked his head back and forth, rubbing it lightly against back of Boone's head. "That's the ticket. Now you get yourself some rest, we had a long night." Out to the side, Tempest gave him a hand sign—"Got you covered."

It helped. Just seeing it, Boone felt safer. Nothing was going to sneak up on him, nothing was going to get through Tempest's guard. Boone considered breaking out his bed roll, but he couldn't quite bring himself to move away from Tempest. Soldiers learned to sleep in all kinds of odd positions, snipers more than most. It had been a long time since he did it, but he thought he might be able to rest with his back against Tempest's.

"I'm not moving," he said.

"That's fine by me." Tempest shifted behind Boone. He set his favorite rifle next to his right leg, in easy reach, and then broke out the tools to maintain his sniper rifle. They were sensitive things, sniper rifles, part of the reason Boone's piece was based on a sturdy hunting rifle instead. Tempest would be fussing with it for a while, making sure all its bits and pieces were in working order.

Boone closed his eyes and matched his breath to Tempest's, swaying slightly with his motions, and tried to relax. He knew from experience that even a quick cat-nap would help him think clearer. It hadn't been much of a night for sleeping.

He woke up with a crick in his neck and the vague idea that he'd been snoring. Behind him, Tempest was humming a tune he didn't recognize at all. Their backs were sweaty, stuck together. By the growing heat and the angle of the sun, Boone had been out for a few hours. He quickly wiped a bit of drool from his chin, glad that Tempest couldn't see, and levered himself away from him to stretch. Sleeping sitting was _not_ kind to the body.

Tempest stopped humming as soon as Boone moved, and was stretching too when Boone turned around. Tempest rose to his feet, reaching for the dome of the sky and then stretched his shoulders and triceps before he turned a faint smile on Boone. "How are you doin'?" he asked.

"Fine." Boone popped his neck with a grimace. "I can take watch if you need rest."

"I slept more'n you did, last night." Tempest pulled some jerky and purified water out of his pack and handed half of it to Boone. Nice stuff, tender well-seasoned brahmin rather than tough and gamey coyote. "Bitter Springs needs more soldiers, if you're up to a little light courier work."

"Yeah." Boone nodded, and they were off again—strengthening the front for the NCR.

Tempest didn't push. Boone had said he was fine, and Tempest wasn't going to ask again how he was feeling, even though Boone knew damn well Tempest hadn't meant physically. The Mojave sun beat down on them as they made their way cross-country. The screeing of small insects was the only sound, and as they walked down the shadowed side of a dry wash.

Boone found the words rising up out of him, knowing Tempest didn't expect them of him, but would always listen. "Still feels like I'm living on borrowed time. But I don't see any reason not to take a lot more of those Legion sons of bitches with me."

"There's a hell of a lot more of them across the river," Tempest said. "I ain't brought half the hurt on them I intend to. You and me, we ain't done yet."

Maybe that was the way to think about it. Boone still couldn't see any way going against the Legion was going to end well for either of them. They'd be lucky to end up killed rather than crucified, but there was a reason to fight smart as long as there were still Legionaries to kill. There was a reason to keep going as long as there were still people to protect.

…he needed better armor.

He still had some pieces of his First Recon kit, back in Novac. It would block a lot more than a damn tshirt. And pouches, like Tempest, who always had everything he needed to take care of people. Boone should have supplies at hand.

"Need something in Novac," Boone said.

"Urgent?" Tempest asked.

"No."

Tempest tipped his head to the side, like he did when he was planning his paths, mentally shuffling things around to make an efficient route. "It'll take us a few days, but we'll get there," he said.

Just like that. Boone didn't need to explain. Tempest didn't pry, trusted him that the side-track was important just like Boone trusted Tempest that the small jobs he no doubt had lined up along the way were important. They worked, the two of them, a seamless machine, the deadliest little unit in the Mojave.

Boone walked at the side of the Grim Reaper, and for the first time in a long time he felt like death was somewhere out ahead of him rather than walking in his shadow.

Camp Guardian had fallen.

Not to the Legion, which would at least have made sense. It fell to a combination of wildlife and mismanagement. Boone and Tempest cleared out the rats and scorpions, got Private Halford out of the caves and on his way, and blocked the caves off as much as possible to keep the lakelurks from rising again.

It hurt, deep in Boone's gut, to know that they hadn't had to die. They'd been sent off, undersupplied and without backup, and it was the brass's fault everyone in the camp was dead. Didn't matter how much he and Tempest tried to fortify the front, the NCR was spread too damn thin. Wasn't anything they could do about it.

They made their camp up at the top of Guardian Peak. Tempest sent his new eyebot buddy out to patrol the perimeter and climbed out onto the overlook across Lake Mead, lying on his belly, and Boone joined him. They could see the boxy shape of the Fort itself high on the cliffs. They passed Tempest's binoculars back and forth, doing a bit of long-distance recon. The Legionaries patrolling the walls were tiny figures, but they could be counted, and at least a part of their patrols understood.

What Tempest planned to do with the information, Boone didn't know. All he could feel, looking at the costumed bastards, was a low, seething, hatred. "Wish they were close enough to pick off," he muttered.

Tempest lowered the binoculars. "Tell me, pardner, what do I win if I can hit one?"

Boone snorted. "Not even you can make that shot."

Tempest quirked an eyebrow, and he didn't reach for his sniper rifle or any more refined gun than his old favorite bolt-action. _Pas_ didn't even have a scope, but Tempest was looking down the sights like he thought he had a chance in hell. He breathed his measured sniper breaths, slowing his heart, and Boone grabbed the binoculars.

"Which one?" he asked.

"Top right corner." There was a Legionary up on the wall, on watch at the corner of the fort. Boone kept his eyes on him.

Tempest fired. Three long seconds, waiting for the bullet to arrive, and... nothing. No reaction from the Legionaries.

"Can't be done," Boone said.

"Shh," Tempest hushed him, full attention fixed on the fort as he ejected the spent casing. He pulled his glasses off, gaze so intense it might as well have been a laser sight shooting straight across into the heart of the Legionary.

Tempest fired again. After half a beat of nothing, the Legionary turned and looked down and left like he'd heard an unexpected sound. Tempest's thumb flicked back and forth on the bolt action, setting the chamber for his last shot. The wind ruffling the waters of Lake Mead below them went still, and for an instant even the chirruping bugs fell silent.

The devil smiled down the barrel of his gun, and pulled the trigger.

The Legionary staggered back, arms flailing out wide, and toppled off the top of the wall. Boone couldn't believe it, even seeing it happen. The Legionaries left were scrambling, running and screaming and trying to figure out where they were being attacked from.

Tempest laughed, low and rich, and brought the tip of his gun to his mouth to blow the lingering smoke from the barrel. In that moment, shining in impossible triumph, he _snapped_ into focus.

Thing was, Boone had always seen best at a thousand yards, and Tempest had been standing right beside him from the moment they met, too close to get a bead on. Boone was seeing him now, though. He was aware of the line of his body against Boone's side, the smell of him all gunpowder and broc flowers and sweat. Fine-fingered hands so strong and sure on a gun. Gunsmoke-gray eyes with dark lashes as thick and pretty as a girl's. Lips pursed above the hot length of the gun barrel. Boone had seen those lips red-swollen from cocksucking so many times.

Boone's hand was between them now, touching Tempest's face—the faintly rough curve of his cheek, thumb coming to rest on those soft lips. His lips parted further as he lifted his face into the touch, lids falling over his eyes. Boone couldn't read it as anything but _receptive_. A flash of heat traveled down Boone's body, and he realized with surprise that his cock was so hard it _hurt_ to lay on the stony ground.

Tempest was deadly, merciless, and impossible. No one could do what Tempest did, and yet he did it, and he was beautiful and open and _willing_.

Boone _wanted_.

Not at all the way he'd wanted Carla, admiring from a distance until she chose _him_ , out of all the soldiers on leave. Her biggest mistake. He'd never known what he did to get so lucky, worshiped her, wanted to make her happy any way she wanted and any way he could. Until he couldn't.

Not the way it had been with Manny, like his partner was an extension of his own body. Help keep your partner's kit in good shape, cover each other when you're reloading, trade watch when one of you's tired, sleep back to back for safety, give each other handies when you're horny. It worked out perfectly. Until it didn't.

Tempest was a force of nature. Like a storm. First Recon had gotten caught up in a bad one, once, out in the mountains. A thunderstorm, crackling with rads, and gusts strong enough to lift a soldier in heavy armor off their feet. No shelter, so all they could do was down rad-x and lash themselves together so they weren't thrown down the mountain. In the sound and the fury, they'd started howling, laughing at the sheer terrifying thrill of it.

And afterward, afterward, he and his partner tumbling together with desperate biting kisses as they tore each other's soaked clothes away and beat off in a messy animal rut against each other.

Boone wanted like _that_. Like that moment of fear, instinct, and exhilaration.

"I want—" Boone's voice came out hoarse, strained. His thumb pushed in, entering Tempest's mouth. Tempest's thick lashes were rising again, enough to gaze at Boone from under them. His tongue, hot and wet, curled around the tip of Boone's thumb. He moaned softly, and smiled that devil smile.

The skin all the way down the back of Boone's neck prickled with danger. He grabbed Tempest, abandoning guns and binoculars and everything except the man himself as he dragged him behind the sandbag barrier. Tempest came with him stumbling and laughing, and went easy to his knees when Boone pushed him down.

Boone undid his pants only just enough to get his cock out, fumbling, burning, the thundering heart in his ears the loudest sound. He pulled Tempest's head toward it, needing that terrible mouth on him _now_ or he might burst. He stopped, though. When Tempest resisted, turning his face away, Boone stopped himself and let go.

Boone was... he was _a lot_ of things, but he wasn't _that_.

Tempest was just going for a condom. He tore it open and rolled it down Boone's cock faster than he'd ever seen anyone perform the action, following with his mouth in a tight smooth slide. Boone forgot his momentary worry immediately. There was no room for anything but the moment, but the feel of Tempest sucking him fast and messy. His hands ended up in Tempest's sleek hair on instinct. Tempest's hand was on his hip, not holding him still but pulling him in rhythmic thrusts until Boone took the hint to fuck his mouth.

Tempest took him all the way down. Not taking it like surrender, but taking it like the spoils of war. The wet sounds were as obscene as the vision of his cock disappearing between Tempest's lips, as the feel of Tempest's throat working around him. Tempest moaned, rough and hungry, when Boone's cock wasn't too far down his throat to let him, and Boone's own voice answered with a quiet 'uh, uh, uh'.

It was over fast, the avalanche of pleasure overwhelming him, and Tempest sucked him through to the end.

Boone stumbled back, weak and shaking. Tempest rocked back on his heels, fixing Boone in place with his burning gaze. His lips were red, red, his chin shiny with spit, and he already had his cock in hand. Boone was taken apart, undone, and Tempest got himself off to the sight. His eyes closed as he finished, and Boone could breathe again.

Being able to breathe didn't mean he wasn't still reeling.

Of course, Tempest didn't seem to have that problem. He flopped over to lean against the sandbag barrier and pulled out a bandanna to wipe his face and then cock clean. "Well damn, that was one hell of a prize."

There was a faint burr in Tempest's voice that Boone had heard before and had never realized was a direct consequence of swallowing an entire dick. He knew now. He'd always know that now.

He had to pull himself together. Boone had a handkerchief, which he could wipe himself up with once he'd tied the condom off and tossed it over the edge of the cliff. He tucked his spent cock away and zipped himself up, but the wet smears around his fly were a dead giveaway to what he'd done.

He looked over at Tempest, who was looking right back, both of them sweaty and disheveled behind the sandbag wall. There were maybe things that should happen afterward, but Boone's (very few) recent encounters only went so far as leaving a handful of caps on the bed-stand as a tip before seeing himself out.

Tempest did this much more often. What he'd mentioned he liked about it was... was having his ego flattered or being called pretty.

"You... you're, uh..." Boone swallowed, mouth gone dry. "Good?"

Tempest snorted and stretched his foot out to lightly kick Boone in the leg. "Don't hurt yourself, pardner." He pulled his canteen off his belt and took a swig of water before handing it toward Boone. "What's a little stress relief between friends?"

Boone took a drink and then carefully screwed the lid back on, buying himself time, before he handed it back. "Yeah," he said. It was a relief that Tempest wasn't expecting anything he didn't know how to give.

"So, after all this time it's trick shots that do it for you?"

"It wasn't possible." Boone shook his head, the shiver of fear and wonder traveling down his spine as he remembered that incredible perfect shot. "What you do, it's not possible, but you _do_."

Tempest shook his head right back. "I could shoot across the water all day without gettin' that lucky again." He heaved himself up to clamber over the sand bags to collect his gun and hat and glasses.

It hadn't felt like _luck_. The way Tempest had been acting, his focus, calling out his target and sending off two test shots to calibrate before hitting with the last. No. That wasn't someone shooting his gun off for the fun of it. Tempest had known exactly what he was doing, and done it.

Tempest glanced back at Boone as he loaded _Pas_ with a well-practiced motion. "Anyway, 'least now you know what the fuss is about."

Beautiful little man, scarred by the point-blank headshot that couldn't kill him, bruise red lips on that sweet talking mouth. Deadly and relentless. Everyone loved him, but Boone saw more of him than anyone else. He was a storm, a calamity, unstoppable.

"The whole Mojave should be running scared."

He held his hat to his heart, eyes wide and guileless. "Of little ol' me?" Butter wouldn't melt in the Grim Reaper's mouth.

Then he laughed, and picked up his binoculars to hunker down and watch the Fort across the water, and Boone knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was going to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter summary: So... the Grim Reaper just sucked my dick...  
> Alternate, alternate chapter summary: "well, mark me down as scared _and_ horny"


End file.
